Salanacon
by gammara
Summary: Chapter 17. It all comes to an end. Thanks everyone for reading and adding your reviews. As Ali G would say, Respect!
1. Chapter 1

**Salanacon **

A/N: From a challenge from Logical Choice. A story from Goodnight Enterprise where T'Pol befalls some serious bad stuff. Many kudos to Telaka ... and for heaven's sake -- read her story!

The sky was afire – hues of reds and oranges streaked across the heavens like an Impressionist painting T'Pol had seen once in a San Francisco art museum. Four suns hung oppressively overhead, bearing down on her. She could feel the rays singing her bronzed skin and causing her nictitating membranes to film over her eyes.

_It is like Vulcan. Like home._

Looking down at the scanner that she methodically waved into the air, she read the display: 49 degrees Celsius in the cool of the morning.

Stepping through the golden sand, feeling it shift beneath her feet, she blinked. Although there were few sparks of life – an abandoned leaf of grass, insects and snake-like creatures burrowing into holes, and no people to speak of ... at least not yet – she licked her lips at the thought of collecting data.

_Salanacon. _

"Damn, it's hot as hell," Trip said. Wiping his forearm against his sweaty hairline, he sighed.

She didn't disagree.

"Why ain't this place in the database?" Trip asked.

She replied evenly. "Our people's history together, though not considered significant in Vulcan timelines, is not a harmonious one."

His eyebrows shoved together.

Without further explanation, she continued her trek toward town. Holding her scanner in front of her, she adjusted her bearing walking over golden sands that eventually lessened and turned into a plot of land – a town. She stared at a sandy colored wall that wrapped around the city. Almost like adobe, it was packed snugly with dirt, sand and water, and felt as hard as stone to T'Pol's delicate fingers.

"Probably to keep the critters out," Trip said.

She peaked her eyebrow at the notion of _critters_.

He beamed. "Animals."

"The Salans have many … critters … in their cities. They use them for transportation."

The Southerner's mouth gaped open. "You tellin' me these people can construct warp technology that, no offense, makes the Vulcans look like children, but they use livestock for transportation?"

"That is exactly what I said."

He guffawed and then laughed. "Whaddaya know."

"There are many things about the Salans that are quite … fascinating. They were nearly destroyed by another race. Their advanced in technology were largely thanks to a war."

The two continued to walk closer to town. "Thanks to a war? I doubt people are happy about strife."

She agreed. "Nevertheless, it is usually war that enables great leaps in technology. For example, during world war two, your people discovered nuclear power. And in world war three, they created warp technology."

Trip's face fell as he became silent.

Standing on the edge of civilization she looked back behind her at the never-ending landscape; the desert spanned the horizon. And the shuttlepod waited, a speck, on top of a sand dune in the far distance. With a curious eye, she turned back to the town.

"It is safe for you bringing those ears in?" he asked.

She nodded. "Quite. It's taken decades, but the feud has been settled. And apart from perhaps a few disgruntled Salans, I should be recognized as … harmless."

"Should?" he asked.

Straightening a little, she corrected her statement. "Will."

Digging into the front pocket her light khaki jacket, she reached for her communicator and flipped it open.

"T'Pol to Enterprise."

"Archer here. Go ahead."

"Captain, we've reached the edge of the town." Her eyes caught a few purple-hued Salans milling about just beyond the small opening in the wall. They were crowded around beehive buildings – mostly likely shops – all in earthy colors; the ones closest to them shined in the sunlight beaming gold in all directions as if the edifices were wrapped in copper.

The aliens stopped their activities, looked over at she and Tucker, and then glanced away to continue on with their daily lives.

"Good. I'm sure Trip'll be in hog heaven. Ambassador Kreenal said they're building a warp 8.1 prototype."

"8.1!" Trip exclaimed. His smile broadened.

Archer chuckled, obviously hearing the sentiment. "I thought he'd be pleased. I only wish I could be down there with you. But, I guess someone has to mind the store."

Trip's hand forced T'Pol's communicator closer to his mouth and leaned down to speak into the device. "Thanks, sir!"

Withdrawing it from Trip's gleeful lips, she provided additional information. "I would like to have an opportunity to study the insects in the desert …."

Before she could get the words out, the captain interrupted. "Sorry, T'Pol, maybe another time. I don't want to wear out our welcome, even though the ambassador seems … hospitable."

"Commander Tucker can visit the factory while I …."

"I'd like you two to stick together."

An unasked question hung in the air.

"Just seems like it's for the best, T'Pol."

So, with that she'd head to a darkened factory and listen to engineering specs, something that wasn't necessarily her specialty. It also wasn't an interest.

"Yes, sir."

"Trip, I expect a full report when you get back"

"Not a problem," the man behind her cooed.

"Archer out."

T'Pol snapped the device shut. The factory was around the next block and as the two headed toward it, Trip managed to get ahead of her walking through the stone-like entrance into the city.

* * *

The factory was a conglomeration of beehive looking buildings, where separate components were manufactured. Unlike the shops, these gleamed in a clay-like color: red. The same copper banding wrapped around the structures dancing the sun's rays in all directions.

T'Pol hypothesized the smelting plant, where the minerals were created, was kilometers away from this city, perhaps even in another town all together.

Walking from building to building, they spent two hours touring the facilities that housed the fastest ships in the galaxy as the Salan's occasionally stopped what they were doing to gape at the strangers. Trip didn't seem to notice; his eyes were glued to the engines, relays, couplings and converters.

She could also see the disappointment hanging there – no blueprints. And even when Trip attempted to inspect the parts that taunted him, just as he picked them up their guide, Greeg, rushed them to another facility. It was clear they wouldn't cover the trade agreements the engineer had hoped for, or see the blueprints and hear the theories behind the speedy travel.

As T'Pol's brown eyes blinked, taking in the last of the details, even she felt much more needed to be gleaned.

Trip leaned in to confirm. "We've only been here two hours and we haven't even seen the good stuff. I gotta see the blueprints before we go back to Enterprise."

Their short purple man guide stood behind them with a peculiar smile on his face. His olive eyes glowed – the Salans were known to have almost hypnotic eyes, possibly because they didn't blink.

Greeg said, "Another hour should be more than enough time to allow you to finish. I would like for you to see the blueprints as well."

Trip's face lit up and his blue eyes widened. He threw the first officer a pathetic gaze, as if he was a boy asking for permission to go play or a dog begging for a treat.

The first officer flattened her lips as he batted his eyes once more.

"Very well. We will rendezvous in two hours, Commander."

Greeg's smile grew, but Trip furrowed his brow. "Wait, I thought he were supposed to stay together?"

The captain wasn't on the planet. And rather than bother him with the details, she decided to make a command decision; after all, she was the senior officer on this away mission.

"It will do us no harm to take separate paths for a couple of hours."

Grinning, he nodded. "Two hours?"

"Two hours. We meet here."

"Thanks!" he said.

Within moments he wandered off as she began to head out the facility and toward the desert to take scans of the limited life there. It was also an invitation to spend two more hours in the sunshine, walking around the sand and collecting data. It'd been too long since she'd visited her home planet, and this was as close as she'd come in many years.

Passing the buildings that housed engines, couplings and parts she'd seen before, she noticed instead of bustling with teams of people, the shipyard appeared empty.

_Perhaps they are on break? _

The moment her foot passed through the portal of the expansive factory, she felt a pistol in her back.

"Don't move." The voice was deep and threatening.

She fidgeted slightly to her right, when the instruction was given again with the pistol pressed more firmly into her back – to the point of pain.

"I said, 'don't move!'"

Without any remorse, the man shot at her. The low-level grade of the weapons did little more than sear her flesh, causing a burn to form on her back. Suddenly, she was surrounded by Salans – factory workers – shooting at her. Although she was able to dodge and thwart some of the attacks, she was met with overwhelming firepower and eventually found her flesh burning.

One last jolt threw her against a brick wall, the one that surrounded the entire factory, and she crumpled to the ground.

A small-built, bald man with a scar running along his check and violet eyes, sniffed the air, as if hungry, and curled his lip. Strolling closer to her, he leaned into her face.

"Your kind makes me sick."

His breath was sour and his eyes seemed beadier than the others of his race.

Her eyes widened. "I'm on a peaceful mission …."

A right cross stopped her mouth from moving, and he shook his fist at the wallop he'd delivered.

"Quiet!" he yelled.

She could feel a trickle of blood run down her lips and onto her chin.

A vehicle resembling a hovercraft led by wooly, golden creatures with large molars that hung out of their already slack mouths arrived. One of the animals brayed as the owner of the contraption jumped down to escort the Vulcan onboard.

A hand wrapped around her collar and dragged her to her feet. Protesting, she felt another shoved into her back so that she stumbled forward.

"Get in!" she heard from no one in particular.

"Wait," she said. It was a helpless plea … on the verge of a bargain. But, instead of reeling off the series of questions she had, she felt a blow to the head and slunk into darkness.

"I'm going to enjoy this," was the last thing she heard.

* * *

Trip meandered around the complex. Greeg showed him the blueprints and greedily the Southerners hands ran over the device that digitally displayed it. Like a 3-D model, the image twisted and turned as they looked at the floating hologram from all sides.

"8.1. Fine piece of equipment," Trip said with a whistle.

"I thought you might like this," Greeg said.

"Damn, you said you've only been building ships like this for about 60 years?"

Greeg agreed.

"Your technology advanced pretty quickly."

The purple man hesitated and then admitted. "We had help. But, the cost was great."

"Help?"

"The Vulcans."

Trip's face fell, the grin leaving his visage. "Really?"

Greeg looked down toward his feet. "We were in the midst of a war with the Rodarans. Their race was intent on wiping ours out: extinction. The only way to fight them was – technology from the Vulcans."

"But, you got it?"

"They don't provide technology readily."

Trip mumbled. "So I've noticed."

"Worse, they traded with our enemies – the Rodarans."

Trip frowned. "Vulcans are peaceful people for the most part. They don't like to get involved."

"Finally, they had to agree with us. But some of the supplies traded to the Rodarans cost millions of lives. Our numbers had dwindled to merely thousands." Greeg stared down at his shoes. "I think even those unemotional pointy-eared aliens showed regret. It's why they eventually helped us."

"Your people seem to be just fine."

Greeg continued to stare downward.

"That was almost seventy years ago. Our population has increased thanks to breeding programs … it replenish our numbers."

A frown smacked across Trip's face. "But, _still _the Vulcans saved your people."

Greeg's red eyes narrowed. "This village was nearly destroyed. Everyone here lost someone. _Everyone_."

For a moment, the engineer panicked. T'Pol, very Vulcan – with pointy ears, a placid voice and green skin – would stick out like a sore thumb on the planet. If these people had a grudge, and judging by Greeg's opinions he was guessing they did, she'd be an easy target.

Flipping open his communicator, noting the two hours had almost passed, he called to the first officer.

"Trip to T'Pol."

Nothing.

Changing the settings to another frequency, he tried again. "Commander Tucker to Sub-commander T'Pol."

_Damnit, I hope her communicator isn't working._

Leaving Greeg's presence, without any explanation, he rushed back to the place the two had parted ways. He waited twenty minutes longer than he was asked to, including heading back to the shuttle to see if perhaps she was there. He even began to make concentric circles when he admitted to himself it was over. With a fallen chin, he decided to make the most difficult call he'd ever made.

"Tucker to Enterprise."

"Archer here. Trip you're late. Everything okay?"

"No, sir. T'Pol … I … I think her lost her sir."

"Come again?"

"Sir, I think I lost T'Pol."

"You lost her?"

"She didn't answer her communicator and she's not at the rendezvous. I've been searching for her about an hour. I … I thought I should let you know."

Trip could feel the tension on the other end of the communicator. Right now, he imagined the captain to be pacing, his face covered with wrinkles and worry.

Archer said, "Hoshi, start sweeping the planet for Vulcan bio-signs, and get me Ambassador Kreenal."

"Yes, sir," Trip could hear from the communications officer in the distance.

"Trip, stay there."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Archer out."

When he closed the metal box, he sighed deeply. Glancing around, he spotted a green mark on the ground, right next to his left shoe. There was no doubt in his mind what it was: Vulcan blood. Running a scanner on it, he proved his suspicions were correct and increased his concern.

* * *

Archer found himself pacing the length of his office as ambassador Kreenal sputtered on about information that should've been given to him before the mission began. The diplomat's visage was regal and there was an air to her that seemed indifferent to the loss of his first officer. Her red robes hung on her old, frail body and her hair was white and wild.

Kreenal said, "The Salans and the Vulcans aren't necessarily on good terms. There's hatred for your first officer's people."

She blandly delivered the information and her complacent red eyes appeared bored. The captain felt his face flush and his heart start to pound wildly in his chest. His fist involuntarily slammed onto his desk.

"Why didn't you tell me before!"

The ambassador's features were placid. "I didn't think your people would be there long enough. Accept my apologies."

Archer's head fell to his chest, a growl nearly escaping the back of his throat.

"I don't wish to alarm you –" Kreenal said.

He ventured to glance back at the ambassador, but made sure the woman could see him frown.

"The village she was in is notorious for their hatred of the Vulcans. During a war, that area suffered the greatest number of casualties … and many of them blame the Vulcans."

As Archer's mouth hung open and his brain tried to process his next steps, he vaguely heard the ambassador's next words.

"For years we have tried to right this wrong with them, but still … most of our people would hold no great guilt if they were to kill a Vulcan."

The captain stalked over to the terminal, said a few choice words and smashed his finger against the button, cutting the ambassador off in mid-apology … before any pleasantries or un-pleasantries could be exchanged. Barging onto the Bridge about to hurl a few commands, he was cut off.

Hoshi said, "Sir, I've scanned the area – no trace of Vulcan bio-signs."

"Keep scanning." He nodded toward Reed. "Malcolm."

"Yes, sir," he said, already out of his chair.

"You're with me."

Archer stalked over to the turbolift as he heard his tactical officer tag along behind him. When the doors shut, Archer debriefed Lt. Reed on what he needed – MACOs assigned to search the area, 20 in total that would arrive in groups of five. Although he didn't need to reiterate the importance, he found himself saying a few words Malcolm already knew.

"Have them meet us down there." _We have to get there right away. _"Time is of the essence, Lieutenant."

"Understood." Reed cocked back the setting of his phase pistol to stun as Archer did the same.

Marching down the hall, Archer opened up his communicator. "Trip, Malcolm and I should be there in two minutes. Keep your position."

"Yes, sir."

Facing the crewman who manned the transporter controls, Archer delivered his order. "Energize."

* * *

T'Pol's eyes stung as she creaked them open for the first time in what she would hypothesize was a few hours. She was bound – her hands secured behind her back and her feet wrapped together with a substance that was impossible to wiggle free of.

"Glad you're awake," said a voice. "My name is Ral."

Struggling to make out the figure, she took in her surroundings. It was a dark, dank place – like a cave or a cellar. The odor smelled musty as if water was plentiful there. It also had the odor of rotting flesh … as if the location had been used to torture prisoners in the past or bury their dead.

"Know this place, Vulcan?"

It was the same man, the owner, who'd struck her at the factory. Even by Salan standards he wasn't comely. Perhaps it was the sneer he wore on his face, as if he'd been twisted by grief.

"No," she remarked.

"It's where my family took refuge against the Rodarans. Well, what was left of my family anyway."

T'Pol turned her head. More guards were in the distance, watching her – smiling snidely.

"That was more than sixty years ago. I believed our people had come to an understanding," she said.

"Understanding? What's to understand? We begged the Vulcans for help, and rather than give us any, they allowed the Rodarans to kill and maim our people. Worse, your race pestered mine for improvements on technology that we made."

She shook her head about to answer him. Instead, he continued, crouching down to breathe into her face.

"Did you know that I saw my father being incinerated in front of me?"

She licked her lips, tasting her own blood, and gave the smallest frown. The history between the Salans and Vulcans was tenuous. The Rodarans were every bit as evil as the man before her had indicated, but the Vulcans didn't know that then. At the time, they'd decided they wouldn't play peacemaker or soldier; instead they'd wait until the conflict came to an eventual end.

It wasn't until the lethal attacks had begun that the Vulcan government stepped in, ignoring their own laws. And by that time, it had been too late.

"We were unaware," T'Pol said.

"We told you how dangerous the Rodarans were," Ral said. A grimace wormed its way on his face, something that resembled both a smile and a frown.

"Just like the Vulcans did, my men are going to stand around and do nothing as I slowly and methodically torture you for everything you've done."

"I've done nothing; I was a child at the time …."

He sneered.

"If you are looking for currency for my release, my captain should …."

A kick to her stomach ended that line of negotiation.

"The first thing I'm going to do, Vulcan, is break your delicate ankles to make sure you can't run away."

Selecting something that was a cross-between a lead pipe and a sledgehammer, he flung it against his hand as if ensuring she could hear the weight behind it. It smacked against his skin and he grinned at the sound.

A guard sat on her to make sure she couldn't wrangle out her punishment.

The bald men bent down and waved his wrist in the air.

"Please--" she heard her voice say. It wasn't a plea; it was a request.

And before anything more could be said, the metal smashed against her left ankle. A bone-shattering crunch resounded and she felt fire – white, hot pain crawl up her leg and travel back down to her feet. Biting her lip in an effort not to scream, she breathed through the hurt as the Vulcan priests had taught her when she was a child. She closed her eyes in an effort to concentrate and hide the agony.

He smiled. "Your kind doesn't like to show emotions. I think by the end of this, you'll be screaming … you'll be begging me to stop."

And then he delivered the same blow to her right ankle, and it snapped like a twig underneath the weight of the instrument. Electrifying, it shot through her begging her to yell out. Instead, she whispered a mild grunt, and he smiled – pleased he'd received _some_ response. Again she focused on slowing her own heartbeat as if entering a light-healing trance.

She felt his hot breath on her neck. "I want to hear you beg me to stop."

The men behind her laughed, and her torturer beamed under the attention.

_I never will._ Forcing the bile back down her throat, she kept a stoic face, ignoring the burning of her skin and the ache of her bones. She was barely aware of the sound of more bones snapping – her left and then right wrist.

A quiet moan left her lips, almost numb to the ache.

_My wrists are broken. _

"We don't want you to use your nerve pinch."

Finally the man who'd pinned her to the ground got up. As he did, she noted that her rib was broken, possibly puncturing her lung or heart. At the very least it was tender, but didn't match the exquisite distress of her wrists and ankles. The only consequence is that it was difficult to breathe and it forced some of her breakfast into her throat.

"I don't want you even able to crawl away, Vulcan."

"My name is T'Pol," she whispered.

"I don't care what your name is," he said.

Untying her, he carried her over to an old, wooden table and strapped her down. Despite the fact her wrists and ankles were useless, he bound them tightly to the table. When finished, he backed away and smiled at her strewn out before him.

Suddenly, his hands and fingers stroked her – touching the tips of her ears, brushing briefly along her mouth before she could bite at them and then tracing along the curves of her body.

"The Rodarans violated my mother. Did you know that?"

She tried to wiggle from his touch.

Menacingly, he stared into her eyes. "You're very beautiful."

She turned her head away from him as she heard laughter throughout the cave; the other men found her defiance amusing.

"After I've finished with you, perhaps I'll let one of my men have you."

Her lips flattened and she remained silent, trying not to shiver under the pain or the threats. _Logic. Reason. _

"Maybe I should let one them have you now, before we mar your beauty. Which one though?"

Furrowing her brows slightly, her gaze was cold and stern as if filled with her own intimidation. _Logic is the beginning. It is the foundation. It is the creation of everything Vulcan. _

"I would love to see your Vulcan austerity crumble. Maybe it would crumble if I let more than one of my men have you."

A few men closed in on the table, but she held her eyes on him. _Where there is chaos, there is destruction. _

"Maybe I'll take you first," he said. He unfastened the belt of his coveralls.

_Where there is emotion, there is chaos._

TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

When Archer and Mal arrived on the planet, Trip's face was covered with worry. Typically, Archer would grab his friend's shoulder and assure him everything would be okay, but something in his gut told him everything was horribly wrong.

Like the tick of a clock, T'Pol was always punctual. If she'd indicated to Trip she'd be there in two hours, she'd arrive at 1 hour and 59 minutes.

"Sir, I found blood on the ground over here … Vulcan blood," Trip said.

Archer furrowed his brow and walked over to the site. Without waiting for instruction, Malcolm crouched down and waved his scanner in the area. "It trails off over here and ends. She probably got into a vehicle."

Archer frowned. "Commander Tucker, you traveled back to the shuttlepod?"

Trip nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You ask any of the locals if they spotted her?" Archer asked, unholstering his phase pistol.

"A few. None of them saw anything."

"No one?" Archer asked. That seemed impossible.

"That's what they say."

"Malcolm, you're responsible for the MACOs when they arrive. Trip?"

Archer wandered off back into the factory, waving his fingers toward the first building for Trip to follow. The grounds were bustling with people. Hundreds of purple creatures with gleaming eyes all tinkered and toiled over various parts and scurried from one building to another like bees.

As they walked by, Archer could feel their alien eyes on him and as soon as he looked to confirm they were staring, the Salans darted their eyes away. Sauntering up to one – a middle-aged man, he grabbed his arm.

"Have you seen a Vulcan around here?" Archer asked. A smile was forced onto his face, as if he was being friendly … despite the gun on his hip.

"One was with him," the man said, pointing at Trip.

"Did you see her without him?"

"No," he said. His alien eyes landing on the ground.

Archer nodded. "We know that she was less than a meter away. I doubt you could've missed her passing by."

The purple man, stopped. "No, I didn't see her."

The smile faded into a straight line, and Archer's tone became threatening. "Have you been here all day?"

"No … we have our mid-morning break. Everyone in the factory has one at that time."

His eyes met Trip's and the blonde frowned. "If you have a mid-morning break, how 'come Greeg didn't stop working?"

Nervously, the little purple man said, "I don't know. Maybe he wanted to show you around the facility."

"Yeah, seemed real eager to show me everything," Trip said. "Maybe a little too eager."

Archer turned slightly and noticed that the entire factory was watching with remarked interest. Each little pair of beady eyes on the two men.

"You seen Greeg?" Trip asked. "After I went to go look for T'Pol … the Vulcan … he seemed to vanish."

"No, I haven't seen him."

Casually Archer walked closer to the man and then suddenly wrapped his hand around the black collar of the Salan's uniform. "You better not be lying to us. Because if I find out you are …."

Squirming away, his eyes wide with panic, he spoke a few words, his voice shaking. "I'm not lying."

Archer glanced over to Trip, hoping to gauge the engineer's reaction. The blonde shrugged.

"Maybe we should find your friend Greeg?" Archer asked.

Trip nodded, pointing to the building that housed the blueprints.

* * *

The next time T'Pol awoke, she blinked into the darkened cave to see Ral smiling.

"You blacked out," he said.

Her stomach lurched and she turned her head to become sick, retching onto the floor as laughter again echoed off the walls. Strangely she felt numb as if she was used to the pains and aches she had been dealt.

"I didn't expect you to pass out," he said. "I heard that Vulcans have incredible stamina."

Focusing on her body, she'd noticed many things were smashed: her elbows, a few ribs, her knees ….

As if reading her mind he smiled. "You tried to get away. We can't have that can we?"

Everything about her was sore as if stretched and battered. Gazing down at her uniform, which still covered her body, it was bloody and ripped. She noticed her eyes were wet, as if she'd been crying.

"I saw a tear trickle out of your eye, Vulcan. Very satisfying."

She didn't remember the incident.

"I don't think we've done our job yet though," he said. Smugly, he walked over to the glittering steel tools on the cart next to the table and picked them up lovingly. There was one with a hook, something that resembled a needle, the hammer he'd used on her earlier and other devices that made her bite her lip to prevent from screaming.

She closed her eyes. Instead of focusing on the meditation chant she'd been taught as a child, the one that rattled through her brain earlier, she wondered where Captain Archer was … and whether he'd be able to find her. She reasoned that scans of the surface for her bio-signs couldn't penetrate the cave they were in. But, she knew that the crew would come to the surface and look for her. It's what she began to focus on, instead of the glistening steel in Ral's hand.

"I'm going to rob of you of everything it means to be Vulcan," he said. "Like bobbing those pretty little ears of yours."

A vision popped into her brain, one of her captain telling her everything would be all right. It was the softened voice she'd listened to before, one that gave her encouragement and comfort despite her never asking for it.

A sharp slice across her legs and warm blood flowed from them pooling under her; they'd torn open her thighs. Biting her lip until it bled, she heard herself mumble something.

"Please come soon, Jonathan."

* * *

"You're telling me no one knows where one Vulcan is, one that I entrusted in your care, Ambassador!" Archer yelled.

A day had already passed without any results. The captain, Reed and Tucker, along with MACOs and security personnel, had set up camp in the city hoping to use even the nighttime hours to search for their comrade. It's why Archer was in his tent on the outskirts of the town screaming at a PADD that held the ambassador's image.

"I warned you --" Kreenal said.

"After … _after_ … she'd already been lost! I don't care what it takes, but I want some answers from your government."

"I have no jurisdiction for the city of J'Lahr."

It was the city where the factories were, the one that had the greatest hatred of the Vulcans.

"How convenient."

"I suggest you talk with Kladeal. He's the mayor of the city and can –"

"I've already spoken with him. I told you already that he said he has no jurisdiction over the factory."

"You've spoken with the factory owner?"

"Unavailable." Archer sneered. "I think he took her. The Salans at the factory weren't very cooperative. I was hoping --"

"I have no jurisdiction over business. I explained that to you."

Archer sighed noisily, showing his frustration. "Well, let me tell you what _I _have jurisdiction over. I'm going to recommend we never trade steel or other alloys to your people ever again. And because of my rank and experience, and the fact you've kidnapped my first officer, I think it's a recommendation they're going to take!"

It was an idle threat; Starfleet would be interested in the warp technology, but right now he didn't care about that – he wanted T'Pol back.

After staring at each other for a few seconds, the ambassador finally spoke. "I can contact the person in charge of the factory. I'll get back to you tomorrow."

With that the screen faded to black. Restless with anger, he threw open the flap to his tent and headed out. The camp full of MACOs and crewmen turned their eyes on Archer, and he'd guessed by the sheer decibel of the argument with the ambassador everyone – maybe even those in the city – heard what was going on.

Trip was the first to speak up. "Damned Salans."

"Find Greeg?" Archer asked. It'd been six hours since he'd last spoken to his engineer.

"No, sir. It's like he up and disappeared."

Malcolm stepped forward for his report. "She's not in the desert. The MACOs combed every centimeter of it – by foot and by shuttle."

Archer kicked his foot lightly at the ground. "I'm running out of ideas here," he admitted.

The three men were silent, until Trip asked a question. "Anything happen with Starfleet?"

Jon shook his head. "No other ships in the area. Soonest one could reach us is in five days."

"Five days?" Reed asked.

"Humanitarian assistance. The Tellarites had an outbreak of Rigellian flu. All available ships have been reported there. In fact, we've been asked to assist."

Malcolm and Trip threw a glance to each other as Archer finished that thought.

"We have two days until we need to break orbit."

Malcolm blew out a long breath. "Not a lot of time. What about the Vulcans, did you contact them?"

"Yeah." Archer's laugh was sardonic. "Well, it was brief – I'll give them that. No."

"That's it?" Trip asked.

Archer nodded. "That's it." His comm beeped and without hesitation he picked it up.

"Sir, you asked me to report to you on the hour," Hoshi said.

"Go ahead, Ensign."

"We haven't found any Vulcan bio-signs."

"Thanks. Keep scanning. Archer out."

"She's gotta be here – no ships have left the planet for the past 48 hours."

Reed barely raised his head. "Unless—"

It was something that Archer had considered: T'Pol was dead. If she were, she wouldn't give off any bio-signs and it may explain why an entire town filled with people hadn't seen her. In fact, one could conclude it was a reasonable or _logical_ explanation.

He sneered. "She's not dead, Lieutenant."

"But –"

Archer's eyes steeled. "I _said_ she's not dead."

The Englishman blew out a small breath. "Yes, sir."

"Tell your men to take both Shuttlepod one and two and divide up the planet into quadrants to search, close-range, for bio-signs."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," Archer said. Turning on his heel, he went back into his tent to grab his jacket.

Trip followed him in. "Permission to speak freely?"

Jon put his coat on and nodded.

"Cap'n, we're all a little edgy, but –"

Coming toe-to-toe with his officer, he said a few words. "Commander, we're going to find her. Understood?"

Trip swallowed deeply. "Yes, sir."

Jon marched out and headed back to town to start knocking on doors. He didn't care what time of night it was or the repercussions of his demands. It didn't matter if he'd already spoken with them. It didn't matter if they cursed, swore or worse – he needed to know where she was, and any avenue would be ignored. None. He'd do everything … _everything_ … in his power to recover T'Pol.

_She's got to be alive. _

* * *

Two days of excruciating pain. Ral was right about many things, her veneer had faded and she wasn't above crying out and begging either for mercy or for them to put an end to her miserable existence. Cut, bashed, burned, abused -- every muscle in her body ached, nearly every bone was broken and her will to live was nearly gone.

Although she hung on to the idea that her captain would eventually come, in her deliriousness, she imagined herself waiting for Commander Tucker – angry that he was late. The desert was hot – more sweltering than it had been during her entire stay – and she felt perspiration pool under her arms.

The blonde with a beaming smile meandered up to her as if he owned the planet.

_"Howdy," she heard. _

"Tardy again, Commander," she said.

He shrugged. The gesture created more ire. _"Awww, sorry." _

"I am forced to report this to the captain. Perhaps a one-day suspension will assist your punctuality."

_"If ya gotta." The smile in his eyes, despite his punishment, was disarming. _

After she'd filed the warning, she wondered if she had been too strict and stern with Trip. The man was generally amiable; he most likely meant no harm or mal intent by being late.

"I think she needs a little more pain to bring her back to reality," Ral said.

Forcing her off the table and to fall helpless to the ground, he and the guards began to kick at her stomach. With one solid swipe, one of the captors had managed to dislodge a rib and force it into her stomach. Turning pale, she felt her mouth drip a mixture of vomit and blood.

"I don't think she's going to last much longer," said another.

T'Pol decided she would rescind her reprimand of the commander.

_"Can't stay mad at me, can ya?" Trip asked. He winked at her. _

"No," she agreed.

"I know what'll bring her around," Ral said.

Snipping the scissors into the air, he chuckled. "The only thing left to take the Vulcan out of her is to …"

A hoot came from one of the men; they'd been drinking nearly all day. Torturing her had become more than a game.

"Bob her ears!"

He placed the scissors near her ears. "You hear that sound, Vulcan?"

Nodding, her eyes rolling back into her head, she agreed.

"That's a lock of your hair. I'm going to keep it with me. It'll help me remember you when you're gone. I'll remember all the things I did to you."

And then she felt a stinging – it was shooting pain, the kind that brought tears automatically to her eyes. Snickering, he showed her a tiny bit of flesh that was floating in a pool of green blood.

"That's your ear, Vulcan."

And with deliberateness, he took the shears to her other ear and cut. This time, she let loose a blood curdling cry. Her voice, long since hoarse, ripped through the air hoping to catch someone's attention – someone who would help.

Ral leaned over and kissed her. "We'll let you bleed for a while longer. If that doesn't kill you, would you like us to end it?"

Tears ran down her cheeks and she barely noticed the nodding of her head and mumbled pleas.

"Yes. Please kill me."

"I hope that's a lesson to your kind. We don't want you on this planet."

She began whispering agreements. "Yes, it's a lesson."

Throwing the remnants of her ears onto her, he said. "You were pretty."

Her eyes closed and as she felt herself slip away, she realized something was being shoved down her throat. Helplessly, she drank it as if it was water.

"You were so pretty."

* * *

Dawn came, and Jon found himself in the middle of the square, smelly from wearing the same clothes for three days in a row … and having sweated in them every day. Risking a glance, he saw Reed and Trip. Both men looked beaten and defeated – their three-day beards, hair soaked and plastered to their foreheads, perspiration rings under their armpits and covering their backs and dust covering their skin and uniforms. Shoving a dirty hand through his hair, he made the decision.

Nothing. No Vulcan bio-signs. No traces of T'Pol except for small bloodstains on the ground near the factory. Three days of searching and not a single squinty-eyed, Salan admitted to having seen her. Reed couldn't pinpoint a trace of where she was or where she'd been. More crewmen were expended to broaden the search to other cities – no matter how remote. Communications with ambassador and with politicians in almost every city, promising money, engineering parts and even weapons if they found her. The trade of weapons was strictly against Starfleet protocol. Archer didn't care.

Staring at the serpent-headed fountain in the middle of square that he'd passed 57 times in the past few days, he hung his head.

It was utterly pointless. Deep in his heart he began to accept the unthinkable: she was probably dead. Stumbling onto one knee, without realizing or caring, he crouched to think … or to pray. A hand gripped his shoulder.

"Shall I ask Hoshi to run another scan, sir?" Reed asked.

"No," he said. "Let her know we're coming back up. And tell Travis to break orbit."

He's promised the admiral they'd be en route to help the Tellarites; the epidemic hadn't diminished, and Dr. Phlox was desperately needed.

As quickly as he'd said the order, Malcolm backed off and opened his communicator to deliver the instructions. Archer turned his attention to the detestable fountain and noticed how frightful his visage was when he stared into the water. A single tear disrupted the liquid, rippling it, below him and he cursed at himself.

Shaking his head, he said, "She's dead. That's the only explanation there is. She must be dead."

He forced himself to his feet and was about to walk toward Trip and Malcolm, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Several men walking down a corridor holding a lifeless body in their hands – a body smattered with green blood.

Without thinking, his feet flew to the alley they occupied.

* * *

_Finally. Death. _

She felt a crack at the base of her skull.

_Maybe I should reprimand Commander Tucker. Captain Archer is far too lenient. And yet … I don't know if I can. _

And as she began to slip into unconsciousness, she heard phaser fire. Yet, she didn't fade into death. In fact, she heard one man, Ral, scream and fall to the ground.

"T'Pol!"

The voice …. _Perhaps the captain was angered at her reprimand of Tucker. Though – it sounded both terrified and exuberant at once. _

More bursts of phaser fire and two more yelps and thuds. Straining to lift her head, it was impossible to see what happened. She licked her lips, tasting blood -- from where, she had no idea.

She attempted to answer the call, heaving only a grunt.

"T'Pol!"

Again. His voice. She couldn't tell if it was real, or it was imagined, but she felt the need to recognize it and the comfort it brought.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry …. I tried to get here sooner …. I did. I tried. I really … I really didn't think, T'Pol, that you'd … I didn't …."

_Is he sick? Is Trip all right? _

"But, we're here now. It's okay. Dr. Phlox he'll …."

Suddenly, she felt herself scooped up and shoved into his chest. And at the feeling of her broken limbs and the fire raging in her stomach, she grumbled mildly – barely able to talk.

"I have to finish my scans," she whispered.

"It's okay," said the captain in a broken voice. "You can do them later."

"My God," Trip said.

The two men spoke when other voices joined them. She heard someone unholster his weapon and an English voice.

"Move aside now. Quickly."

She faded out as she heard Archer say, "Shhhh, T'Pol."

"You came," she whispered.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The MACOs show of force, as well as a fierce and wild-eyed looking captain, engineer and armory officer, helped encourage the Salans to stay still. Without waiting to ensure no one was going to fire, Archer dug gingerly into his pocket – hoping not to disturb the woman that lay in his arms.

"Trip, you're in command. You have an hour to organize the teams to get back to Enterprise. After you reach the ship, set a course for Tellar."

"Yes, sir."

"Archer to Enterprise. Two for emergency transport. Tell Phlox to meet us at the transporter. T'Pol's --"

"Yes, sir," Hoshi said.

Keeping his gaze firmly ahead, the two were beamed onto Enterprise. Phlox met them with a gurney and some assistants in tow.

Lamely Archer spoke up. "T'Pol's been hurt."

Phlox scrambled up to them and waved a medical scanner over her.

"Set her down, Captain."

Like setting down a baby for a nap, he carefully scooped her neck and laid neatly on the bed. Phlox quickly strapped her in and his team ran the bed to Sickbay, with the captain right behind them. As they sprinted through corridors, Archer noticed a few expressions from his fellow crewmen. Relief: they'd finally found her. Horror: the woman was covered with bruises and burn marks, green blood covered her (and him now) and there were tatters that used to be her long, slender ears.

He barely registered the gasps; his main concern was to get this woman to Sickbay and well on the road to recovery.

_She'll be all right. _

The Sickbay doors shot open and the team, with Archer's help, hoisted her on the bio-bed. Immediately, Phlox began reeling off the litany of injuries that she'd incurred to his assistant.

"She's broken three ribs, her wrists, ankles, elbows and knees are shattered. She's punctured a lung. Her abdomen is …."

He drowned out the information that reeled on for at least a few minutes. Reaching down his fingers, he stroked her forehead lightly.

"You'll be all right," Archer said. The patient was unconscious, but for some reason the captain felt the need to say those words.

The screen whined and complained behind T'Pol. The doctor made a few demands, barking out his orders without the usual ease and sweetness and suddenly the captain found himself pacing behind them as they worked.

"She's been poisoned."

Archer hung on the balls of his feet wondering how much worse it could get. "What the hell haven't they done to her?"

Phlox, focused on the task at-hand, didn't bother to answer. Instead, he shot a hypospray into her neck, which caused some of the dials above her head to droop dramatically.

"Chlorine," the doctor said. Grabbing another vial, he reloaded the hypo and forced it into her neck again.

Her body convulsed as if to object, and the captain felt relieved that it showed some form of life … as if she were going to put up a fight before death took her.

As soon as she's stabilized enough to address the captain, Phlox turned around and updated him on the patient's condition.

"Her condition is tenuous at best," Phlox said. The doctor's frown grew until it enveloped his entire mouth. "I think –"

For the first time since he'd picked T'Pol up in his arms, he realized something that made his stomach hurt: she could die. By the grimace on the doctor's face, in fact, it seemed to be inevitable.

During his time on Salanacon, he'd bargained with himself that as soon as he found her, she would fine. He'd take her back to the ship, Phlox would miraculously cure her and she'd eventually recover to take her place back at the science station where she could monitor the universe's wonders again.

"No," Archer disagreed.

"Captain –"

Staring down at her and then at the board behind her, he shook his head. Her heart still beat and her chest rose and fell; it seemed unlikely she was going to die. And yet, Phlox – who'd never lied and was considered the best physician probably in Starfleet – said she might … and so he had to consider the possibility.

_No. _

As captain, he was everyone's father – he looked after the crew, rewarded them, disciplined them, asked them to perform chores and bargained to keep them safe from harm. He likened T'Pol's role, sometimes, to something along the lines of his spouse – the crew's mother. After all, she took on the very same duties that he did, with the addition of providing him guidance – a sounding board – and disagreeing with him when she thought he was wrong. And occasionally, he let down his guard in front of her, divulging information that no one on Enterprise ever knew about him or would ever know (maybe not even Trip), and at times she would reciprocate.

"She's going to be all right," he said.

Trip coughed; he'd entered the room at some point, which meant an hour must've already come and gone.

"What's the prognosis?" he asked.

Phlox's piercing blue eyes leveled on Trip and he shook his head.

Slumping his shoulders, Trip nodded. After moments of silence, he eventually mentioned, without his typical zeal, the status of Enterprise … as if the information not only wasn't important, but wasn't interesting.

"We're en route to Tellar. Should be there in about six hours at maximum warp. Dr. Phlox should probably start preparing for the --"

Without warning, the captain's feet suddenly marched forward to the nearest terminal. Punching a few buttons, his voice commanded the communications officer.

"Get me the admiral."

"Yes, sir," she said.

When Forrest's visage appeared on screen, the captain began right away. It wasn't how they typically spoke to each other – without smiling, small talk and first names.

"Admiral, we found my first officer."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll pass that information onto the Vulcans."

Archer continued. "She's badly injured." Looking behind him at Phlox, he stared back at the screen. "Very badly injured."

Forrest's eyes closed at the news. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Archer shook his head; that wasn't what he wanted to discuss. "Sir, I'd like to request Dr. Phlox stay aboard Enterprise instead of helping with the –"

"Captain—"

"Admiral, from earlier reports you already have some of the brightest doctors and scientists helping the Tellarites. I'm sure they won't miss _one_ doctor who –"

"Captain—"

"Who is needed … whose presence is _vital_ … aboard my ship. T'Pol's life is in danger, sir. I'm willing to help out in any other way, but Dr. Phlox is needed aboard Enterprise. _I_ need him here. If Starfleet has a problem with that --"

Forrest squinted back and finally raised his voice, interrupting Archer. "_Captain_, I was about to tell you that we just got a report five minutes before you contacted me. The epidemic seems to be under control. It's no longer spreading, and they've begun inoculating those who aren't sick. All they need is people to administer the vaccines."

Archer swallowed.

"We'd still like you to rendezvous at Tellar, but … we don't need your physician. I'll send you further instructions when you reach the planet."

"I'm sorry. It's –"

"I know."

He sighed. "Thank you, sir."

Forrest frowned. "I understand you care about your people, Jon, but part of being a captain is caring about _many _lives instead of just the ones under your command."

Archer would normally agree – vehemently so; he didn't today. "Yes, sir."

Forrest punched the button in front of him and Archer's head hung against his chest. Padding up behind him, he heard the engineer.

"I'll let you know when we reach Tellar," Trip said. His misty eyes danced over the woman that at one point he'd been intimate with. "Lemme know how she's doing."

The captain nodded slowly and shut his eyes as he heard the Sickbay doors open and close. Feeling the expanding and contracting of his lungs and attempting to control them so they happened less often, he eventually turned around. Phlox was quietly working over the Vulcan.

When Archer managed to turn around and fall back at T'Pol's side, the doctor finally looked up and stood next to him.

"I think –"

Two glassy eyes, hoping water wouldn't spill over, waited on every word the Denobulan said. And to show comfort and understanding, the doctor's own eyes a little teary, he put a hand on his shoulder.

"Jon, perhaps it's for the best if …"

Archer wet his lips, wanting to reply, but couldn't clear his throat to say the words.

Phlox brows connected and he looked down, eventually letting his hand fall away. "Her stomach lining was eaten away, her esophagus burned – she may need feeding tubes the rest of her life. Her bones have been crushed, possibly beyond ever using them again. And the list goes on. I've never seen a patient with this much trauma live. I'm not sure I'd want to."

Hoarsely, he managed to whisper out a few words. "We're talking about T'Pol. She'll make it."

"Her emotional condition may not help. Having been tortured, raped and …."

Unable to breath from the lump in his throat, he choked for breath. Tears trickled down his face and his fingers brushed a lock of her hair away from a bruise on her forehead.

_She made it back on Enterprise just to die._

As his hand joined his side, away from T'Pol, Reed entered and his face fell immediately.

"I wanted to see how she was," he said.

Without a beat, obviously gauging the solemnity of the room, Reed offered a comment with a hoarse voice himself.

"Someone should contact her parents."

Archer nodded.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

When Reed walked out of Sickbay with Archer, the captain realized for the first time since he'd found T'Pol how disgusting he was; he'd gone three days and six hours without a shower or shave. It'd been nearly two days since he'd slept.

Looking down at his uniform, he noticed it was blanketed in dust, sweat and green blood. Her blood was on his hands, where he touched her forehead to brush away a stray hair, and lingered under his fingernails -- when he'd clutched her to his chest.

As the rounded the corner near his quarters, Reed broke the silence and stirred the captain from his dark musings.

"Let me know if you need anything, sir."

"Thanks," he agreed. _Reed didn't need to head in this direction to get to the Bridge._ "I appreciate it."

Reed gave a sad smile. "No trouble, really."

With a nod, Archer slid into his room and thudded into his chair, staring into nothingness with the lights off. Porthos, who must've guessed his owner's mood, hunkered down on his feet without whining or demanding attention.

Like an automaton, Archer slipped out of his clothes, stood under the nozzle and scrubbed himself clean, shaved and put on a clean uniform. Doing so made him feel more like he was in command – both of his emotions and of the situation. It also made him more presentable to give bad news.

Denying his begging eyes sleep, he looked up information about T'Pol's parents on the computer. Their names flittered across the screen along with their location. Somehow he guessed getting in touch with them wouldn't be easy.

He'd recalled her talking about her family only once, but it was enough to warrant dismay.

_Enterprise was on its way back to Earth for a late-fall holiday, one that just happened to coincide with Thanksgiving. The crew was eager to visit family and friends, which was why Trip rattled on about his relatives – brother, second cousins, aunts, uncles. It was clear the family was close-knit, most of them living within 50 miles of each other, and had been close – distance-wise and relationship-wise ­– as long as any of the Tuckers could remember._

_Archer stabbed at the pasta on his plate and noticed T'Pol looking down at hers. _

_With a grin, Trip leaned in. "I know Vulcans don't celebrate Thanksgiving, but maybe you could go back to your family on Vulcan? Hell, we could probably even drop you off."_

_Without gazing up, she said, "My family does not recognize me."_

_The engineer screwed up his face. "Whaddaya mean – 'doesn't recognize' you?"_

"_I mean – they no longer call me their daughter … as the High Command no longer calls me a Vulcan."_

_Setting his fork down, the captain spoke, startled at the news; she'd never mentioned it before. "Why not?"_

"_I chose Enterprise and humans over my assignment. My resignation was an embarrassment to the High Command, which has never tolerated disobedience. My withdrawal a slight to my family's name." _

_Trip stabbed at the air with his fork to make a point. "Family's supposed to stick together … be there through thick and thin. My dad always says: the one group of people who have to take you in … who can't turn you away … no matter what … is your family."_

"_Not everyone feels that way, Trip," T'Pol said._

_As silence threatened to fill the air, Archer spoke. "That doesn't seem right."_

_She was quiet, so he countered her family's position. "Well, you still have family. Us. Enterprise."_

_Trip nodded, a grin. "Yup."_

"_You could always come to Earth with us …," Archer said. He'd been hoping to invite her anyway, but wondered how it might seem._

"_I have a project I would like to conduct," she said. "And I cannot eat … turkey."_

_Both Trip and Archer exchanged glances. The captain was about to disagree, when she clarified a point. _

"_You consider me family?"_

_The little Vulcan blinked her eyes and then ducked her head down to sip her tea._

_Giving a warm smile, Archer agreed. "Absolutely." _

"_Then perhaps the human saying is true: one cannot choose one's relatives." A playful glint sparkled in her eye._

_Trip shook his head. "Yeah, well. You could be stuck with my Uncle Ben. Let's just say, he ain't up on his table manners."  
_

Her parent's information – their names and location - wasn't enough. Unlike Earth, that had numbers and names attached to every form of communication where humans eagerly waited for contact, Vulcan's methods of communication were meant to protect privacy. No Vulcan tapped their foot hoping a relative would call. Rather, they passed their communication codes to only those they wanted to speak with.

Archer wasn't surprised the codes that T'Pol had provided when she'd first come aboard Enterprise didn't work. It was clear: they'd cut off communication from T'Pol.

Sighing, he knew his job – one he abhorred – was going to be more difficult. His first attempt was through the Vulcan consulate. The bowl-haired, dark-eyed man stared at the screen and denied any access to what he classified "private information."

He then tried the Vulcan Central Information– what the Vulcans designated as a library. That didn't work either. Soval's office had no answers, and neither did the Vulcan High Command or even the Ministry of Defense, where T'Pol once served. One dead end led to another and before long, three hours had passed with nothing. As he was about to make another feeble attempt to talk with someone who looked like they'd rather scrub toilets than answer his questions, a communiqué came through. It was the admiral again, and by the furrowed brow he was sporting, he was agitated.

He explained, despite the mess on Tellar, the Vulcans were getting jumpy enough to bug Starfleet about Archer's pestering. By contacting various groups and outlets, the captain was stirring up trouble.

"They won't want to see her," Forrest's said.

He'd guessed as much.

"I'll talk to them." _At least talk with them._

Forrest leaned forward. "What are you going to do when you reach them?"

Archer frowned. "I don't know, Admiral. I'd probably tell them that their daughter was one of the finest officer's I've ever served with and that being her … friend … has been a distinct pleasure and privilege. I'd probably tell them that … that without her help, without the choices she made, Earth would've been destroyed … and my entire race along with it."

The admiral drew his lips together and glanced down.

"I owe her a lot, sir."

Forrest took a deep breath. "Why don't you leave it alone for now."

When he was about to protest, the admiral interrupted. "I'll see what I can do."

"Aye, sir."

Fifteen minutes later Archer had the codes and punched them into the system. A man with cold, stern eyes answered the link. Something about him reminded Archer vaguely of T'Pol – perhaps his large, curious eyes or thin frame. In general, the man looked much sharper, with a bird-like nose and pointed chin, than his daughter. His bland, emotionless face waited before speaking.

"My name is Jonathan Archer, captain of the Starfleet ship Enterprise."

"I know who you are."

His voice was just as cold and distant as his appearance. Jonathan nodded at the information, rather than fire back with a quip.

"I'm afraid, there's no easy way to say this, but your daughter … she's been badly injured in an attack. My doctor's doing everything he can with her right now, but there's no certainty that she'll pull through."

The man's face was still.

"Even if she lives, things may not be the same for her … life may not be the same."

Quiet.

"I thought it best if I told you this myself ... as her captain and friend."

Silence.

"I'm sorry to you and your family."

Without another word, the man delivered four words without emotion or thanks. "I have no daughter."

The viewscreen in Archer's cabin faded to black.

* * *

Admiral Forrest contacted Archer once more, telling him the instructions: members of his crew had been assigned to assist in the operations (Phlox's name had conveniently been left off the list). Enterprise was ordered to hang in orbit around the planet for at least the next week. The man also, very quietly, asked to be kept apprised of T'Pol's condition.

For six days life aboard Enterprise was unusual, but everything happened as if it were routine. Archer's appearances on the bridge were mostly for formal events – times when "the captain" was needed. For example, he had taken his post, although wouldn't sit in his chair, as the ship had approached Tellar, had fallen into an orbit, when the assigned crew had begun transporting down and finally as they'd checked in. He'd wander back once every three hours, the communication interval, to determine the crew's progress. And, if more was needed, he hung around to resolve issues.

That was the extent of his role on the bridge.

Trip filled in as captain the times Archer wasn't at his post. When Trip wasn't playing captain, he'd visit T'Pol himself as Engineering was undergoing routine maintenance – something his right hand woman, Hess, could do.

While in Sickbay, Trip would sometimes hold T'Pol's hand and apologize for leaving her alone with the "Salan bastards." He sometimes tried to fill the space with humor – even though the patient was unconscious. And more than anything, he made promises that if she got better, he'd stop giving her a hard time and even let her eat meals in peace and quiet.

It wasn't just Trip that had dropped by; pretty much everyone did.

The captain was no exception. Jonathan nervously paced around the medical facility, telling his first officer – debriefing her – of the events of the day (none of which she could hear), particularly the progress with the epidemic. And when the briefing was over, he talked softly to her about various things or read a book quietly at her side, glancing up now and then as if he'd imagined that she stirred.

Phlox was busy. Things with T'Pol were touch and go. His job had been difficult – flushing her system of poison, healing her bones and repairing her internal organs had taken incredible skill and time. When he'd done everything he could to stabilize her, he eventually tried to reconstruct her ears. But, the skin and the nerves around were too delicate even for his expert hands. In the end, he gave up – leaving each ear looking as if it were snipped down the middle showing something like two points on each ear.

After this surgery and when the skin had been revealed, Phlox puckered his brow at the work. "I hope she forgives me."

Archer's fingers delicately stroked her left ear. "You can barely tell."

Phlox noticed, but decided to let the comment stand. "At least she's making progress."

Archer gave a hopeful grin.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she wakes up within the next two days," Phlox said.

Although Archer heard the same thing two days ago, he smiled all the same and mumbled a few words. "I think she will, too."

* * *

It was like a fog. Floating in and out of existence, she heard familiar voices – people she'd known once a long time ago speaking to her. Some sounded close, whispering in her ear – promises, optimism, concern and care.

It wasn't the words spoken to her that finally roused her. What finally jolted her from her deep sleep was her hand, one that was only now healing, was being crushed in a desperate grip by large, strong fingers. Her bones ached at the grasp.

For a moment, T'Pol thought back to her torture and wondered whether she should keep her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep or dead. It could be them; they'd done worse.

_They won't bother me if I am no longer alive,_ she reasoned, keeping her lids closed.

And then a voice came into clarity. It was the captain's. And she remembered, fuzzily, that he had rescued her … liberated her from peril. She recalled him, Trip and Lt. Reed coming to her aid before she blacked out.

_It's safe._

Taking a gasp for air, she opened her eyes, fighting through the thin veil that kept her still. As she did, she noticed the hand that grasped hers before loosened as another hand wound around hers in comfort.

"T'Pol," he said. Dressed in his uniform, and wearing what she determined was a one-day beard, he beamed brilliantly down at her. A tear leaked from his eye as his right hand stroked hers.

"Captain, you're crying."

His smile widened, but he didn't stop. Instead, he blinked another free and it cascaded down his cheek.

"I don't understand why," she said.

"I know you don't." he said.

Confusion set over her features – a combination of the drugs she was under, the pain she could feel (including the aching her hand where it was clenched) and a reaction to his response.

Moving his right hand away from hers, he gently stroked her cheek. "We've missed you."

Phlox joined her side as the captain stepped away. "How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

Blinking, a frown worked itself blatantly onto her mouth. "I don't know."

The doctor gave a nod. "I can imagine. I know you won't admit it, but I'm sure you're in pain."

Taking his hypo, not willing to wait for a response, he shot it into her neck. Phlox covered many of the injuries she'd undergone, leaving out a few that deserved privacy, and she listened to each one, finding a certain detachment to it. After a few minutes of silence, and watching both the doctor and captain glance at each other, Archer talked to her about her parents.

He sat down on the bed. "We were worried about you. We were so worried … that ... I ... tried to contact your parents to tell them …. I'm sorry if I –"

"You spoke to my father?"

"I had to try. A week ago you almost weren't here with us anymore. Anyone's family deserves to know."

"And what did he say? … Captain, please, what did he say?"

"That… he had no daughter."

Her eyes fell to the floor across the room. "I, would have expected that, but thank you, anyway."

"I'm sorry," he said. He looked down at the covers and fiddled with them between his finger and thumb.

"Yes."

Phlox fussed over her for a minute, checking her with a scanner. "It will take some time for you to recover, but you should be able to leave Sickbay soon."

T'Pol swallowed.

"You … and I should probably discuss a few particulars of your condition," Phlox said. His eyes went to Archer as if asking him to leave. And the captain responded.

"I'll come back in a little while," Archer said.

The two nodded. Before he stepped through the portal on his way back to the bridge, she said two words.

"Thank you."

A smile filled with warmth shone over his entire face and twinkled in his watery eyes. "Get some rest."

When he left, Phlox went through the gruesome description of her injuries and the memories of her time on Salanacon flitted to her brain. When he'd finished explaining all the consequences of her problems – the fact she may never walk fully, be able to take a deep breath, eat solid foods and more – she listened to him say one of the most disturbing things he could … at least to one of her kind.

"Most Vulcans enter a healing trance."

She knew the next words. _They did._

"You did not."

Death had gripped her and threatened to drag her down into its icy darkness, smothering her there in lifelessness. The void beckoned her – an invitation to end her pain and suffering. One step closer to the chilly blackness and she would not have recovered. It seemed welcoming.

"It … appeared as if you'd given up," he said.

It was difficult to say, but she felt the words already on her lips. "I was in such agony."

The physician grimaced and worked his hands gingerly around his patient's. "I know the pain is still there, but it will vanish one day soon."

Her gaze was unconvinced, so he spoke again. "All of it, T'Pol."

With that, the physician covered some of the details about her capture -- memories she'd wanted to avoid or repress. The recollection brought back the smell of soured breath and rotting flesh. It brought to mind how she'd tasted her own blood and Ral's rancid lips.

Her spine tingled and bile worked its way to her throat, nearly choking her.

"It'll take some time to register everything. It'll take a while to recuperate."

Recovery seemed like a long road, something much more challenging than actually living through the events on the planet.

"You'll feel better."

Somehow the Vulcan doubted that was true.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A huge thank you to Telaka. I'm so glad you like this fic. I consider Goodnight Enterprise to be one of those pieces of fiction that holds so true to the A/T'P dynamic that it's kind of a primer. It has romance, without having much of any at all. And it's obvious you like all the characters. Anyway, I appreciate your review. Indeed, this fiction is T'Pol's road back to recovery, as much as it is about her ordeal. And hopefully, it's also about Archer falling for her, and being her rock, more than he already has, but not admitting it to himself. It's also about Trip being a friend.

_Red. _

_T'Pol stared up at her captor – his crimson gleaming eyes trained on her. She could barely make out his shape; he was masked in shadow as he strayed from the torchlight in the cave. Although she tried to squash her horror, she realized it was there nonetheless – no matter how she chanted the ancient words of Surak and his disciples. _

Logic is the beginning. The foundation. It is the creation.

_Ral leaned over her, his mouth twisted like a gnarled tree that guards a cemetery – a haven for carrion birds. She could smell his breath, even over the musty aroma that filled the air; the odor of stale meat clung to his palette._

"_Maybe I'll take you first," he said. He dropped closer to her, his breath on her lips._

_Attempting to drown out the laughter in the background, she turned her head and closed her eyes. _

Where there is emotion, there is chaos.

_He drew closer still, caressing her cheek._

"_Please don't," she whispered._

_Strands of her hair brushed through his fingertips and fell limply around her head. His mouth found her ear and he nibbled on it as if he were a lover._

"_If you keep your eyes on me, I won't let the others harm you," he whispered._

_She shivered. _

"_All you have to do is keep your eyes on me."_

Flinging her eyes open, she sat up and panted for air – struggled for it. Sweat beaded at her forehead, under her arms, around her chest and at her back. As she gulped, a hand worried over hers.

"Are you all right?" a voice asked.

Swallowing a scream, she retreated from the touch. Darting her eyes left and right, she looked for an escape route.

_Maybe he dragged me here._

Another large, hairy hand reached out for her bare shoulder.

"T'Pol?"

"Don't touch me," she said, snapping.

Everything was wrong. The room wasn't darkened – it was bright, teaming with lights. Instead of the dank odor of the cave, she smelled a hint of lemon, as if she were in a place that was sterile and clean. And rather than see a pair of red, beady eyes leering at her, she saw worry in two large green ones.

_I'm in Sickbay. _

A frown formed on Archer's face, and his hands retreated from hers – obeying her command.

"Okay," Archer said.

As she stared down at the sheets, avoiding his gaze as she tried to compose herself, she noticed the captain out of the corner of her eye. A book lay in his lap face down; it was one she knew he'd already read a year before. He looked a little haggard, stumble covered his chin and cheeks, as if he'd forgotten to shave, and dark circles hung under his eyes. His uniform was wrinkled, as if he hadn't given it the same care he usually did.

"I … apologize," she said. The words were said so quietly, she wasn't sure he heard.

"You don't need to," he said. His eyes shone with concern and worse … recognition.

_Perhaps he knows._

It made her shift and glance away.

Archer's voice was hushed. "Listen, Phlox said it'd take a while to adjust and –"

_No. _Interrupting, she asked, "How long have I been asleep?"

"I don't know. I got here a few hours ago."

"Where is the doctor?" she asked.

"I told him to take a break and have something to eat." He then leaned forward as if he'd been remiss. "Do you need him?"

"No." After a brief pause, she straightened. "Enterprise's status?"

The frown on his face widened. "I don't think it's really important."

"I'm your first officer. Regulations state that you are required to keep me up-to-date on all ship's business."

"Just lie back and relax, T'Pol."

She asked again, trying to hide how desperate she felt to talk about the mundane and routine … to talk about anything, but what woke her.

"I would like to know the status of the ship. Please, Captain."

A furrow ran between his eyebrows and he sighed, giving into her request … maybe because he knew exactly how she felt. Somehow, he usually did, even if no words passed between them to clarify.

"We provided medicine to the Tellarites. Their epidemic seems to be over."

That information sounded familiar to her, but she waited to hear their current situation. He hesitated, almost afraid to deliver the news to her.

"We're on course to Vulcan," he said.

"Why?"

"You'd get better care there."

Lying back in her bed, she fiddled with the covers. "I trust my care here."

"I know you do, but they're better equipped to treat you. Dr. Phlox recommended --"

"I don't need _their _help."

"T'Pol--"

"I do not need their help." Her head slowly turned to him and she attempted to mask the disgust in her voice.

"If this has something to do with your family –"

"No."

"You'd recover there more quickly. Don't you think it's only … logical … you go to Vulcan?" He smiled, and she noted the gesture was to reassure her.

Staring straight ahead, she spoke again. "I have already stated my opinion on the matter."

"I don't know a lot about being Vulcan, but I know –"

She cut him off, her eyes narrowing. "You know _nothing _about being Vulcan."

"All right." He sighed again and then placed his elbows on his knees to get as close as he could without coming into contact with her. "I _do _know Vulcans sometimes need help suppressing emotions and thoughts. I just … well … I thought you might want guidance from a priest or –"

"No."

"They may be able to help reconstruct your …." His voice hung in midair, sucked in as if he loathed saying the next words.

"My ears?" She waited to continue until he nodded. "What was done to me is _because_ of my race."

"_You _had nothing to do with it."

"The Salans were correct about one thing: my people should've helped them long before they did. My government's hesitation led to the brutal murders of millions of their people."

"_You _didn't do anything wrong."

She started at him, her eyes hot with anger. "Maybe not me, but my people did. They traded with a race that was intent on destroying the Salans."

"That doesn't give the Salans the right to --" He said the name of the race as if he swallowed ipecac.

"I want nothing to do with the Vulcans."

Archer was about to object.

"And clearly the Vulcans want nothing to do with me."

"You don't know that," he said lamely, as if he didn't believe it either.

"It seems just as well that my appearance will no longer betray me or embarrass them."

"T'Pol –"

"Thank you for your offer, Captain."

Noting he was about to speak again, most likely to debate her conclusion, she decided to resort to something the humans were always good at: diversion.

"Dr. Phlox believes I can return to duty in two days."

He shot his eyebrows up in surprise. "I think he said you could leave Sickbay in two days, not return to work."

"I took it to mean the same thing. I'm … eager … to review the scans I took on the planet … at least, the few scans I did take."

"That's not a good idea."

Her mouth turned down ever so slightly, and the image seemed to trouble him. Shifting in his chair, he shook his head.

"Look, it's not that I don't want you on the Bridge. I'm worried about you. Yesterday, we weren't sure you were going to make it."

When she parted her lips, he spoke again.

"I want you to get well."

"Vulcans have faster recuperative powers than humans. If I enter a light healing trance, I should be able to –"

She noticed his eyes looking over her broken limbs.

"How do you intend to get around?" he asked.

"I plan to stay mostly in my cabin, reviewing data."

"With broken wrists?"

"They're mending quickly. In two days I should regain the use of them."

"I don't want you to push yourself. You've been through a lot."

"I believe I'm fit to return to duty."

Ducking his head, he asked a question with a hushed voice. "What about what just happened?"

Her eyes queried him, even though she understood the implication: she rebelled from his touch. Staring at the ceiling she came up with an answer. Although it wasn't exactly a lie, it certainly wasn't the truth. But, she reasoned with herself it was the best excuse she could provide.

"As you know, Vulcans don't like to be touched."

"You've never had a problem before." He corrected himself. "You haven't had a problem with it for some time."

She flattened her lips. "Touching is always … unnerving. Because of my injuries, perhaps it is more so."

"Because of your injuries?"

Staring at him, stoic, she affirmed her statement. "Yes, my lacerations and contusions."

"I see." It was clear by his squinted eyes, he didn't buy it.

The two looked at each other for a few moments – him scanning her as if to find the chink in her armor. Instead, of speaking, he edged forward.

"I may not know Vulcans, but I know you. I think you need some time to digest everything … to meditate and … to deal with everything that happened. And I don't want you to push yourself."

As she opened her mouth to argue the point, the door slid open and Commander Tucker walked in. The engineer, looking also a little worse for wear, stepped across the threshold. On seeing them, particularly T'Pol, a smile spread across his entire face, reaching his eyes.

"You're awake!" he said to T'Pol.

T'Pol's eyebrow raised and she sat up. "Yes."

"Phlox said I should chase you outta here. Besides, probably wouldn't hurt for you to get some sleep. You have duty in a few hours."

"I'm okay."

"You've been here for eight hours," Trip said.

Eyes falling quickly to the ground, Archer stammered a few words. "I had no idea I was here that long."

Confusion smacked on Trip's face. "You came here right after you left your shift …."

Archer removed the book from his lap, snapped it closed and then said a few words using a timbre in his voice he typically saved for command. She noted immediately it wasn't the same hushed tones he typically reserved for her when they were alone.

"Before I change our course, I'd like you to think about it, T'Pol. I don't want you to squander this opportunity."

"You already have my answer."

The captain nodded, although something in his demeanor made her think they'd stay on course. He lifted his hand, as if to squeeze hers, and then he put it back down at his side without touching her.

"I'll visit again later," he said. "Get some rest." Turning on his heel, he walked out the door.

"This means you're not going to Vulcan?" Trip asked.

The engineer didn't skip a beat, and for a moment T'Pol wondered if they were, as humans would say, "ganging up against her."

"No, I'm not going to Vulcan."

He folded himself in half and took the spot next to her, the one that the captain had been occupying.

"Well, he's right ya know," he said.

As she was about to disagree, he shook his head. "But, I guess it's up to you."

_That _was something she wanted to hear. "Yes … it is _my _decision."

"Your father's opinions of you don't necessarily reflect your entire race's thoughts about ya."

"They do. Besides, didn't you and the captain indicate you are my family now?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I suppose we did say that."

Almost giving into a sigh, she noticed the commander didn't seem relieved. Just as she was about to inquire further, he exhaled deeply.

"I've been wanting to say something for a while. I've been wanting to say: I'm sorry."

"There's no reason to be," she said.

Rubbing his hands, one over the other, he hunched forward.

"That ain't exactly true. If I hadn't wanted to see the ship … see the blueprints, you never …. I should've followed the captains orders."

"It's in the past."

Trip's voice was hoarse. "It only happened a week ago."

She corrected him. "A week is still considered the past if I'm not mistaken."

Watching him get worked up, to near the point of tears, she spoke to him – lowering some of her veneer.

"Trip, it wasn't your fault. You attempted to convince me we should stay together. As I recall _I _was the one who insisted on finishing my scans separately."

"Doc said you were mumbling in your sleep about reprimanding me."

Knitting her brow, she tried to remember, but couldn't.

Trip said, "I was … I was concerned you wouldn't be okay, and then when you were … I was afraid you'd hold a grudge against me."

The way he said it made her believe he wasn't just worried about himself, but was genuinely concerned about their friendship and a close friend.

Her expression softened. "I cannot hold grudges."

With a sad smile, he tried to playfully engage her in banter to prove everything was okay.

"Can't stay mad at me, can ya?"

The pupil of her eye contracted.

_Ral leaned against her, stroking her ear. When he got to the very tip, he fondled it – rubbing it between his fingers. _

'Fingers?' she asked herself. 'No … something like a fingernail.'

_The edge was sharp and pointed, and he sliced it against her ear hoping to torture her slowly. When tears streamed down her face, he smiled at the pain – a reward for her brandishing emotion. Leisurely, he repeated the motion and she continued to cry. Everything he did to her was slow and methodical, as if he'd been savoring every stroke, and every response she presented was in hopes the pain would come to an end. _

"_That's your ear," he said. _

_She saw bits of flesh immersed in her own blood. Although it sickened her stomach, her mind forbade her from vomiting._

_Before long, she felt something wet, like water cascade around her, pooling under her hair and flowing down her neck to stain her clothing. In her weakness and terror, she'd bargained and pleaded for her life to come to a miserable end._

_To answer her requests, he provided her a kiss. His lips pressed down on hers and his tongue violated her mouth, scooping against hers as if it belonged to him. Instead of biting the muscle, ripping it from his mouth, she accepted it while staring into his eyes._

"_We'll let you bleed for a while longer. If that doesn't kill you, would you like us to end it?"_

"_Yes," she begged. _

_And yet … she continued to stare him in the eyes until her body gave out from exhaustion and shock. She had to keep her eyes trained on him, or else her fate would worsen._

Thrown from her thoughts, she saw Tucker move forward.

"T'Pol?"

Her attention whipped to him. "Yes?"

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"You were just sitting there staring into space. You said something about eyes watching you."

Her eyebrow raised. "I'm just fatigued. Perhaps … you could visit again tomorrow?"

He frowned. "Sure." Getting up slowly, he gave her an unsure gaze. "See ya later."

Looking over his shoulder once more, questioningly, he left. When the doors shut, she swallowed deeply.

_Logic is the beginning. The foundation. It is the creation._

As she finished chanting it in her mind, she realized the inevitable truth. Logic wouldn't come that horrible day, and wouldn't come today either. The only thing that sprang to her mind was a pair of red eyes trained on her.


	6. Chapter 6

While T'Pol's eyes were closed and her breaths were deep, Archer brought her personal items to set them carefully in a chair that he'd occupied as much as he could, but less often than he'd wanted. The contents consisted of a meditation candle, a lighter, a PADD full of information she was in the middle of reading (new theories about the existence of worm holes and how they form) and a change of clothes.

When he'd gathered them, he'd made sure to keep from riffling through her things – despite his curiosity. He'd thought it was really the only thing he could do to help, at least at this time.

After folding her garment into a neat bundle, placing a PADD on top, and then the candle and lighter, he afforded himself the luxury of watching her sleep. For each breath she took, he thought … cursed … about what would've happened if he hadn't arrived when he did. He pondered the idea if luck hadn't been on his side, which thankfully it often was, and he hadn't seen a flash in his peripheral vision what would've become of her.

There were more disturbing thoughts: would she have been better off if he hadn't been so lucky? The injuries that Phlox described seemed almost too numerous to write down and categorize, let alone heal.

Who knew how long it would take her to regain the use of her limbs? Phlox told him that she wouldn't be able to walk for months … it's why he put through the order for some supplies, including a wheelchair. She took her food intravenously, unable to eat having had her the lining of her esophagus and stomach nearly eaten away. Her fingers wouldn't be able to swirl the knob on the scanner or nab a mug handle for weeks.

Far more alarming was the mental anguish she must be suffering. Archer reckoned it was probably too much to bear … although she'd never said so and probably never would. The fearful eyes when he touched her just a day ago, despite accepting his hand on her shoulder a million times before for the past few years, told him of the trauma she'd endured. And even in her sleep, she wrestled with the sheets and mumbled. He even heard his own name called, as if she'd been waiting for him to free her. It troubled him; he hadn't come nearly soon enough. Caring for his crew was his paramount concern – something he took seriously. It was a duty he treasured. This time, to his shame and regret, he let T'Pol down.

Possibly even more damning than her wounds and state of mind was the way her own people and her own family treated her.

He'd put through a few calls before orbiting Vulcan to see if there was a doctor who could treat her. The call had been just as fruitless as the one to her father, proving T'Pol right about the Vulcans. He'd received a voice as bland, toneless as her father, and an answer that seemed just as curt. It didn't matter what he bargained or negotiated, they flat out she "is no longer welcome on Vulcan" and would "await trial for her refusal to follow orders and serve her planet." Archer hadn't minded ending the call with a sneer and a "Go to hell." And it'd given him some satisfaction to see the uppity man with pointed ears flush, as if angered, before ending the call.

"_Even the humans aren't crazy about her," _he admitted.

A hero from The Expanse, a woman who'd forsaken everything to stop his planet from being destroyed, wasn't cherished by humans as she should've been. They hadn't clapped nearly loudly enough as her named was read at the ceremony honoring Enterprise. Admirals from Starfleet hadn't thanked or praised her enough for her that fete or her outstanding work as his science and first officer. People barely knew her name, and to them she was only "the Vulcan."

The Salans, the Andorians … the woman under his command was abused, mistreated, unloved and unappreciated by seemingly everyone in the universe without reason or rationality.

Instead of feeling justified rage, he felt something akin to sorrow. It was impossible that others didn't love T'Pol as much as the humans, the quadruped and the Denobulan on Enterprise did. Unfathomable.

They were the only ones who knew how to appreciate her, and even in Archer's own estimation they didn't nearly enough. He hadn't at least; he was sure of that.

"T'Pol," he whispered. The words were barely spoken; he knew how sensitive her ears were … even tattered and gnarled as they were now.

Closing his eyes, he recalled when he'd found her, he'd made promises to himself and to her – silent ones.

He'd sworn that he wouldn't let anything happen to her again. No more away missions, unless she was under his supervision. No more putting her life on the line to rescue him. Her safety was his mission.

He'd also vowed that the little Vulcan under his command knew how much Enterprise cared about her. And he'd told himself, sternly, that he'd make sure she knew how much he appreciated her – her work, her friendship … everything. Everyday.

"You mean a lot to us."

Again, almost as a reflux, his hand drifted near her forehead, but before it touched her skin, it fell back to his side.

Maybe it was the air that flittered past her; T'Pol opened her eyes – almost in a flash and gulped. A little startled himself, Archer gave a small jump.

"Sorry," he said. The words slipped easily out of his mouth, especially when he saw the same fear in her eyes he saw the other day.

Sitting up, hair slightly askew and eyes narrowed, she turned to him. "Where am I?"

He frowned. "Sickbay."

"How long have I slept?"

"I don't know. I got here just a few minutes ago."

Phlox, who'd been working in the connecting lab, wandered into the room. "Captain, you're still here?"

Archer furrowed his brow with confusion, as the doctor continued.

"It was so quiet, I assumed you'd already left."

Phlox had excused himself to the next room when he brought her things to her. Mutely, he questioned whether he'd been there longer than a few minutes.

"How are you feeling?" Phlox asked to his patient.

T'Pol exhaled deeply and then gazed up, her eyes glassy. "Fine."

Phlox was about to correct her, when she made an observation. "Did you bring these things, Captain?"

"Yeah … I thought you might need them."

"Thank you."

He smiled. Settling the sheets around her, she stared ahead.

"Perhaps I was too … hasty," she said.

Archer waited, straining for patience, as she took her time to find the right words.

"Perhaps …. It was a generous offer to allow me to return to Vulcan."

Just as he was about to correct her, explaining how her own planet would rather let her die than give her aid, she continued.

"Especially since you went to the trouble to—"

He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. "T'Pol, we left orbit five hours ago."

She straightened. "I see. I did not respond quickly enough."

"No. No, it wasn't that. They … you were right about their reaction."

Phlox's mouth turned down, even though Archer knew the Denobulan was aware of the situation. The doctor had already started using his connections for medical advice and assistance with his patient, assuming the Vulcans wouldn't lend a hand.

"Oh," she said.

Archer took her belongings off the chair in order to sit next to her. "I'm not giving up. I'm looking into other options, and so is Phlox. He's already spoken with some physicians back on Denobula to assist with –"

The Vulcan fiddled with the sheets, wringing them in her hands. "It's not my wounds. My …."

Leaning closer, he asked, "How can I help?"

"I don't know."

"I have some training in Vulcan—" Phlox began.

She shook her head. "Doctor, you're an excellent physician, but you aren't a Vulcan priest trained since childhood in the art of suppressing emotions."

His blue eyes, which hadn't twinkled since the time she awoke, dulled even more. "That's true."

"I'm sorry, T'Pol. I tried," Archer said. Actually, he'd done more than that – he'd called every captain in Starfleet that owed him a favor (and even those that didn't) to get T'Pol on Vulcan.

She gave a weak nod. "Perhaps …. Time alone …."

"Of course," Archer said. Just as he was about to stand, she halted him with her voice.

"Not now. I meant later."

"Oh," he said.

Her eyes meandered over to Phlox and the doctor suddenly spoke up. "I have some things to do in the lab. If you'll excuse me."

When the doctor left the two, he sat in quiet – waiting for her to say something – until the hum of the lights and the low beep of her monitor finally prompted him to action.

"Did you need me for something?" he asked.

"I wanted to ask you …"

He hung on her words.

"You know everything that happened on Salanacon … don't you?"

There was no mistaking; he knew exactly what she meant. It didn't make his answer any easier, and he was slow to give up the information. "Phlox told me in confidence."

"I … suspected that you knew."

He shifted, squirming as if his entire gender were to blame. "If you'd feel more comfortable talking to a woman --"

"Talking?"

"People sometimes need to express their feelings about events, including the painful ones."

"Vulcans," she said. The word sprang from her lips with disgust. "Vulcans suppress these emotions and repress events. It's called the –"

"The Fullara, I remember."

"Yes." She licked her lips and stared back at her hands.

She'd need a priest, which caused him to frown. "I'm sorry. I did everything I could. If you can think of another way --"

Withering eyes looked at him and her lips trembled – quivering so slightly he almost missed it. "I know."

With exasperation, he grabbed the back of his neck and bowed his head. As if to jolt him from his own musings, she spoke.

"The status of the ship?"

"It's fine, T'Pol." He leaned his elbows on his knees. "Listen, I still don't –"

"Good." She paused. "It appears Trip blames himself for … what happened. Could you speak with him?"

He straightened. "Of course."

The two were quiet as he watched over her. She was on the verge of saying something, so he raised his brows, encouraging her to continue.

"Captain, do you ever think about … _why _things happen?"

He stared on with confusion.

"I hear humans sometimes believe in destiny – events that are fated. These events are predestined to challenge one, as if there is some reason."

Stuttering his steps, he kept from reaching out to stroke her hand and explaining that no human thinks the pain she'd been through is "Divine Providence" and he'd never believed the axiom "What does not kill us makes us stronger." In his mind that was utter bullshit.

"I believe the Salans were testing me. They were challenging my thoughts about what it means to be Vulcan."

Archer's eyes became a little glassy, and he shook his head.

"I failed that test."

In his mind, he imagined what any being with sentiency would do if tortured: cry out, beg … anything to save their life and prevent further pain. Even her species.

"You weren't being tested."

She didn't respond.

"And even if you were, you didn't fail," he countered. "The fact you're alive, talking to me, is proof of that."

Although she didn't argue, it was clear she disagreed.

"T'Pol—"

"May I have the PADD you brought me before you leave?" she asked.

It was his cue to go, one which he decided – against better judgment – to abide. He nodded and bent over, to hand her the information. After spying it, she raised an eyebrow.

"The information I've been studying about worm holes." Her voice had only a tinge of surprise.

He gave a small smile. "Yeah."

"Thank you again."

"Let me know if you need anything."

She nodded, though he guessed she probably wouldn't. With one more glance behind his shoulder, he left her to her solitude.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update this one. I went in a different direction that just felt wrong, including having Phlox trick T'Pol into spending time with men. That just didn't seem right. Hopefully this does. Thanks for waiting patiently.

* * *

In the next few weeks, T'Pol witnessed a few major events.

The one of most importance to her: Archer received a letter from T'Chall, her mother, letting Archer – in the most Vulcan of ways – that she was pleased her daughter would recover. She wasn't hated by _everyone_ on Vulcan, only by the majority; logically she dared not compute the number of those against her despite her scientific brain edging in that direction.

It also indicated that if her mother cared for her, perhaps her brothers felt the same way.

An unVulcan feeling, which she was used to experiencing these days, nagged at her; she longed for her mother to join her and sit by her side … even if it was impossible. The woman, because of her reputation and prestige, was assigned to deep space. It must've been difficult for the captain to find her and explained the delay in the transmission.

Also during that time, Enterprise finished its mission: the Tellarite people were saved and the threat of the illness was entirely wiped out.

The moment Forrest contacted the captain to let him know the good news, T'Pol knew Archer'd make a special request to get some Denobulan assistance. Apparently Starfleet approved right away and Enterprise set out for the planet. Within three days, they reached the planet, contacted a team of specialists. Less than a day later, they came aboard to prod and poke T'Pol, giving pointers to Phlox and making recommendations of how to treat her. Overall, the feedback was encouraging: Phlox had done an amazing, stunning job. And the physicians at his disposal were duly impressed with his skills.

For three weeks, they prodded and poked at her, watching her around the clock. Finally at the third week, one of the women – Dr. Zalak – indicated they'd done everything they could and it was time to leave. And that was that.

But, her friends continued to come and stare over her bed as if it was a vigil. Their concerned faces would tense up on seeing her, fraying her nerves. Although T'Pol appreciated the worry, it had frayed her nerves to see people non-stop. It'd been since _before _transporting down to Salanacon that she'd been able to meditate, and that was more than a month ago.

In addition, her friends and the physicians touched her non-stop. Doctors placed scanners against her bare skin and felt at bruises and tender bones. Friends held her hand, stroked her hair or touched her cheek. Their emotions, concern, fear and anger flowed through her every day. Every day. Sometimes their fear would make her lip tremble and their anger would make her teeth itch.

It wasn't just those things, although they would've been enough. Occasionally during the day, when talking to a man alone, even a friend, she panicked. Her heart would beat wildly in her chest as if she was trapped and she would gasp for breath. Ironically, the men who made her uneasy were the ones she'd counted on the most, and the ones who'd saved her life: Phlox, the captain and Trip.

There was once, when she was alone with Jonathan … when she was in the deepest of sleeps, that she heard his voice. Although she couldn't concentrate on the words, her heart raced, forcing her to throw open her eyes in horror. The man must've known his presence caused her discomfort, because as soon as she opened his eyes, he stood up to stand across the room and apologize.

These instances were growing with regularity instead of decreasing, and T'Pol, for the first time in her life felt completely and utterly out of control. It'd been something she'd been trying to cover up; the less people knew about it the better.

_Being alone will no doubt help_, she thought.

Alone. The word sounded like refuge itself. Away from worried crewmen, the spotlight of doctors and their ever-present emotions. Alone to meditate. Alone to detest her Vulcan heritage and quietly rage. Alone to enjoy control and begin researching information in hopes that she would be able to return to work someday soon. Alone. It sounded, although she didn't have faith in any god, divine.

_Fifty-nine minutes,_ she thought. Her head settled into the pillow.

At that exact moment Trip strolled in, beaming.

"Less than an hour to freedom, T'Pol," he said.

She was silent.

"I thought I'd come by and make sure you get all settled into your quarters."

_No._

"I can take care of myself."

"Now, Dr. Phlox said--"

"I can take care of _myself_."

Trip stepped back. "Wake up on the wrong side of the bed again?"

"No. I don't wish to be treated like an invalid."

"T'Pol, you're gonna have to face that you're just not up to par yet. I told --"

"Phlox is going to move me with Crewman Cutler's help. I appreciate your offer, but I don't need your assistance."

"I was gonna help you with your--"

"I'm not an invalid."

"Whoah. No one said you were."

She narrowed her eyes in response.

"If you don't want me here --"

"I don't want you here."

Trip crossed his arms. "Well, you gotta put up with one more day, but …. We're just tryin' to help."

"We?" she asked.

Archer walked through the door wearing a large smile and some casual clothes. Something she hadn't seen him wear in some time. Instead of looking rumpled, as he had for the past few weeks, his appearance looked neat and tidy … just like he had before Salanacon.

He said, "There's the patient now. You know what my watch says – it's 1310 and you have about fifty minutes--"

"I don't know if I'd go down that road, Cap'n. She's cranky."

"Oh? What's wrong? Feeling okay?"

"I'm fine. I was telling Commander Tucker that I don't need assistance or help. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Dr. Phlox and Crewman Cutler will take to my room."

Trip and Archer exchange glances, and the end of it the engineer shrugged.

Archer took a few tentative steps forward and then walked to sit next to her. "I know you must feel a little--"

"Trapped? Patronized?" she asked.

"I was going to say 'irritable.' I can understand why, too. But, let's face facts - when you get back to your cabin, you won't be able to fend for yourself at least not for a couple of days so--"

"Oh?" she asked.

Trip in the background shifted his weight. "Uhm, sir--?"

"That's right, T'Pol," Archer replied.

"Captain, I appreciate your help, but--"

Archer picked up the PADD in her lap and tossed it gingerly on the floor next to him – easily enough so the contraption didn't break.

Confusion spread across her features.

"Pick it up," he instructed.

The Vulcan looked around for a contraption that Trip had made – something he called the "grabber" to help her pick up things close by. As she scanned the room, she saw the long handle and "claw" of the device sitting helpless by another biobed and then remembered Reed had excitedly used it last time he was in Sickbay with her, which was only two hours ago.

"I would typically have the device Trip created to assist me."

Jon looked into her eyes and produced a frown. "I know you're getting better. You're making incredible progress. I'm sure it's difficult for you to be so reliant on others, but that's just the way it is for right now."

T'Pol's lips created a flat line, and her eyes refused to look at him.

"Trip and I are your friends. We want to help you."

Sticking her nose in the air, she continued to look across the room. She noticed his voice expressed frustration.

"I think you'll have more time to yourself in the future, if that's what you're concerned about."

"I certainly hope so," she said. Her eyes still transfixed at the wall on the opposite end of the room. "Because thus far, it appears you both are in my room roughly six hours a day."

Her eyes met his, and she noticed now his had narrowed.

"You may think we're smothering you, but we're concerned about you--"

"It _is_ smothering."

"Well, for today, I think you'll have to live with it."

"This is my life."

She could see Archer's chest rise and fall quickly.

"It's difficult to think with you always around."

"Why?" he asked.

"Pardon me?"

Her lips twitched and she refused to look at him.

"Why is it difficult to think with me around?"

The words prickled her skin. She couldn't come up with an adequate answer, and found herself using an excuse she'd heard once from a human child.

"Because."

He nodded and leaned forward.

"T'Pol, you mean something to me … to this crew. You're special. We care about you. I think you deserve more time to yourself to … get through everything. To reflect. Meditate."

"It seems we agree."

He exhaled, his face turning a little red. "But, for right now … just for today … accept our help, _damnit_."

Opening her mouth, she found a response impossible.

"Okay?" he said. His voice and expression softened, taking on the same quality they had during this whole ordeal.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Trip wince, as if about to see two of the most stubborn crewmen on Enterprise face off.

Settling against her pillow, she reluctantly gave in. "For today." When she noticed Archer's pleased expression, she corrected the comment. "For today and today only."

Archer ducked his head into one hand to rub his temples and nodded. "That's just fine."

"Glad that's settled," Trip said. The man gave an uneasy smile.

Phlox ambled in, smiling his an overextended smile, breaking the tension in the room. "Good afternoon. I see you have roughly forty minutes before--"

Trip shook his head. "Maybe the countdown we came up with wasn't such a good idea."

"Oh?" Phlox asked. "It didn't cheer her up?"

Trip leaned in, hoping to be somewhat discreet and failing. "T'Pol's grumpy."

"Well, it's understandable. She had more visitors than one should normally have and has been cooped up in Sickbay for far too long."

T'Pol raised her brow in satisfaction and then threw a glance to Archer. The captain continued to watch her without comment, and didn't seem to concede her victory.

"Well, she wanted us to take a hike today. Think we should?" Trip asked.

"Absolutely not! She might be ready to be alone, but she can't. It's just not possible at this time. We need to keep an eye on her just a little longer."

Archer's stare turned into a smile.

"I've packed up all your belongings. I think you have everything you need. I'm going to take blood from you once more, and then I think you'll be done."

"Where's Crewman Cutler?" T'Pol inquired.

"Apparently there's a insect exhibit on Denobula she wanted to see. I gave her the day off."

T'Pol blinked her eyes rapidly. "Oh?"

"I thought it would be okay, especially since we break orbit later today. Why, did you need her for something specific?" Phlox asked.

"No."

Phlox headed back to his station to get the device to draw blood.

Archer leaned in a little picking up the PADD he dropped on the floor and then presenting it to her. Although her bones in her wrists were weak, she could grasp things.

"I have a list of movies lined up," Archer said.

"List of movies?" she asked.

"Yeah, I already told Trip and Phlox that I'll take you first."

_I'll take you first. _She thought she misheard; his voice had the tinny quality of Ral's. For a moment she imagined being in a cave, dark and dank and hearing those words spoken directly into her ear with threat and malice.

"T'Pol?" Archer asked.

Her head cleared and she felt her lips tremble. "What?"

"I have the first shift with you. You okay?"

"Yes. I … I'm fine."

"I asked Chef to bring over some popcorn," Archer replied. "Thought it might be fun while we watch a couple of them."

"I don't want to watch movies. And I don't eat with my hands," she said.

"Oh, you've watched Frankenstein before, and you liked that one," Trip chided.

She flattened her lips. "I identified with the monster. The book was more enjoyable."

Phlox came over and withdrew her blood, as she squirmed a little under his touch.

Archer threw Trip a smile and then turned his attention back to her. "Okay. I could bring over a book if you like. I don't mind a little quiet."

"I want to be alone."

"I thought we covered this," Archer said. The good humor in his voice fading again.

"Then I presume we'll watch a movie," she said. "Even if I don't wish to."

"Cap'n, sounds like you're going to have a full night tonight," Trip said, sarcasm in his voice.

"Night? How long are you staying?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to leave at 0300. Don't worry, I took the time off."

Her eyes widened.

With concern he leaned over to reassure her. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen. I'll watch you."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd make sure you were okay."

She shifted a little.

"T'Pol?" Phlox asked. "Something seems to be troubling you," he said.

"Yes, I wish to be alone."

Phlox frowned. "You will be soon enough. I just want to make sure you're settled before we leave you. You'll still be acting mostly self-sufficient. We are just going to ensure you can be. Is that all right?"

"I said it's fine."

He tapped his chin for a moment.

Archer nodded. "Well, I guess that's settled. I'll give you plenty of space, T'Pol. Let's just … whatever you want to do, that's what we'll do."

She sighed loudly, something she had never done before. "Very well. I'm ready to leave when you are."

Trip stared at Archer and then raised his eyebrows. "Yup, have fun."

Archer frowned and then worked with Phlox to assist T'Pol and get her into a wheelchair. As the two picked her up and maneuvered her, she glommed onto the emotion the two carried. Phlox was hopeful; she surmised he was hopeful that the Vulcan's mood would improve. Setting her in the wheelchair, he produced an enormous grin. The captain's feelings were more difficult to ascertain – there was joy, worry and an edge of irritation. There was something else, as there often was when touching him, an emotion she could never quite identify other than: emptiness.

"We'll have to call you Hot Rod from now on," Trip said. His fingers wrapped around her shoulder.

His emotions were always at the ready, easy to ascertain and available. His mood was almost always playful and despite his worry, he wanted to make sure she was entertained. In a way, she understood that he hoped she'd forget her troubles that way. And where once there was love, an emotion she found elusive – difficult to determine – there was the love of friendship. It was warm and comfortable. Which is why when his skin contacted her she couldn't fathom why deep in her stomach she panicked.

Archer leaned over. "T'Pol, can you work the chair?"

Tenderly, she placed her fingers on the wheels and felt excruciating pain as she urged the contraption to move forward. Although she didn't complain, Archer shook his head.

"Maybe I'll take this today," he said, pushing her gently.

Phlox nodded. "I'll take over at 0300, although I hope you're getting your sleep then."

With that, Archer pushed her out the door and down the hall.

Freedom. Smelling the recycled air, rather than the sterile odor of the Sickbay, was marvelous. Seeing a wall other than another biobed made her heart leap and dance. Hearing noises other than the beeping of monitors and the "poor T'Pol's" gave her reassurance.

"Maybe we'll take you once around the block before we head back to your quarters. That okay?"

"Yes," she said. By the slight chuckle he gave, she realized her response was more exuberant than she intended.

"I apologize," she said.

"Why? It's very satisfying."

"What?"

"I said it's nice to see you in good spirits. Are you hearing okay?"

She held her breath. "Yes."

He exhaled deeply, a sign she knew meant he was deep in thought. As the two tooled around Enterprise, he was quiet and so was she. Her wide eyes took in every detail that she'd missed over the past weeks. And it was almost disappointment that overcame her features when they arrived at her door.

"We're home," he said.

Using the security code, he opened her room. And the strangest words slipped out of her mouth. "You know my security code?"

"Yes. I know everyone's." When he'd pushed her into her room, he sat on her bed next to her.

"Does that bother you?"

Tilting her head and then eventually looking away, she disagreed. "No. I know you have entry into everyone's cabin."

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean … maybe I'm wrong, but I get the impression you don't want me anywhere near you. Have I done something to make you mad?"

She licked her lips and stared at the ground next to her.

"You find me threatening?" he finally asked.

Biting her lip, she gave the smallest of nods.

He cleared his voice. "I can see why you wanted Crewman Cutler. Why don't I--"

Her hand reached around his arm before he could stand, though she was uneasy touching him or anyone. Emptiness came over her again.

"I don't understand. You helped to save my life."

"It's okay, T'Pol."

"No."

"Yes it is." Giving a lopsided smile, one filled with something that resembled sadness and mirth at the same time. "It's absolutely okay. You know, part of your recovery is well …."

She breathed deeply. "Perhaps … perhaps you can stay at one end of the room and read. Perhaps that would be okay."

Fishing into the pocket of his slacks, he pulled out a communicator and phaser and then handed it to her. She was barely able to hold them and let them into her lap right away.

"Why don't you hold those for me?"

Nodding, she accepted those terms.

"And, if you need some air, let's find a way to get it for you."

"Okay."

He smiled. "Okay."

Getting off the bed, he headed to pick up a book from her shelf and then headed to the other side of the room with a chair. As she watched him, her stomach felt easier – how she could identify Ral and the captain made no sense. Closing her eyes, she decided to do something: meditate on it.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I apologize for the number of typos in the last one. I was going on vacation for over a week and wanted to leave something for those who've been waiting … and patiently.

Thanks, Telaka, for your very sweet words. It's been a real treat to write this story, and it's been fun to write it using Goodnight Enterprise as its resource … mostly because I get to re-read it (to ensure the action matches up to your words). If readers haven't read that one, you should. It's a real treat, one of my favorites.

And, thanks to Goshabyn. It's so much fun reading your story. Telaka, as Neph said, did indeed inspire many other fics. I'm thrilled you began this and I'm eagerly awaiting the rest of it. Soo … stop reading this and get busy. ;-) And for those who haven't read The Ambassador, read it.

* * *

Phlox was not a happy man; it was in his nature to be jolly, and yet right now, he was anything but full of mirth. As he stared into the microscope, hoping to concentrate on a small virus that Crewman Lee had developed, frustration tingled every nerve on his body.

His irritation had nothing to do with the virus, which humans dismissed – calling it "the flu;" it had everything to do with the patient who Crewman Cutler was retrieving. T'Pol.

Her progress had slowed significantly and her mood, which was important to him even if she denied such a thing, was sullen. Even though she had plenty of time to herself, something she demanded she had, her spirits were low. Frazzled, Phlox grimaced: no one watched over T'Pol these days (despite wanting to), not Captain Archer, not Tucker or even himself. In fact, he'd limited his own visits to strictly two hours per day … just enough time for physical therapy and some blood work. And to appease her, he even broke up his time into two one-hour intervals.

She said she'd been meditating several times per day. The Vulcan also insisted she'd been engaging in a light trances for healing, something her species was prone to do.

And, she'd begun a light workload in her room … although her interaction with the crew was at a minimum.

To the average Vulcan, these factors – being alone, meditating and engaging in work - would ensure the road to recovery. Yet T'Pol was hardly making great strides or any significant progress at all.

_That _annoyed him.

_We've done things her way, now it's time to do things my way_, he thought churlishly.

Phlox knew the problem: she'd avoided her issues, instead of confronting them head on. For example, apparently she'd confided in the quietest of voices to Captain Archer that he threatened her. Phlox decided instead of talking with her about it, he'd wait for her to come to the realization herself that wasn't normal. He expected she'd contact him within a week or so.

It had now been nearly four. That was _far _too long.

Phlox understood it wasn't just Archer – even if it was primarily him (which he believed it was). He too could see her hesitant, wide-eyes gaze up at him with fear. Commander Tucker reported the same problem.

He'd held off from inquiring this morning, believing she was on the verge of telling him how she'd felt as her mouth trembled to speak. But at the end of an hour, she didn't. And because he was her friend and cared about her, he let her get away with it.

_Not this time._

Of course he still cared, but this time, he'd be a physician first. Her recovery depended on it.

_Her recovery has to be my priority, even if it means seeing her hurt._

It was why he was wound up now. It was why he asked Captain Archer and Trip to meet him later.

"Doctor?" Cutler said.

He turned to his assistant and gave a small nod. He was ready.

"Yes?" he said.

"I brought T'Pol here."

Standing, he pushed his stool away from the microscope he'd been leaning over, and headed to the main facility in Sickbay with Liz Cutler in tow behind him.

"T'Pol," he said.

"Hello," said T'Pol.

The Vulcan's eyes scanned him and then Cutler and she leaned back on the biobed as he examined her – taking her temperature, blood and scanning her. The readings didn't surprise him; they were exactly what he expected. Blood pressure, heartbeat, reflexes … all normal. With a nod, he indicated she could sit up … something she still had difficulty doing by herself. Cutler reached around and helped her up in spite of Phlox's frown and furrowed brow. Just as Cutler was about to help T'Pol off the biobed to her wheelchair, the doctor shook his head.

Phlox knew Cutler cared too much for T'Pol as a friend as well. The Denobulan straightened and continued with his resolve.

"I'm not finished," Phlox said.

"Something wrong?" T'Pol asked.

"No. Your readings are normal."

The Vulcan waited.

"I wanted to talk with you," he said.

"Yes?"

"It's impossible to treat my patients unless they're honest with me."

It didn't get a reaction, so he continued.

"Completely honest. So, I'll be honest with you. I'm not seeing the kind of progress I expected or would like to see."

Cutler's eyes went to T'Pol and he could feel her about to make an excuse.

"T'Pol, I've allowed you to have a few weeks to yourself without anyone hovering over you, as you requested," he said.

"I need more time. My healing trance--"

"A Vulcan in a healing trance would've been able to recover much more quickly. You should have minimal use of your limbs."

The remark got a raised eyebrow.

"I think there are other reasons."

She went silent.

"Crewman Cutler, do you mind giving us a little privacy?"

Her brown eyes shot to the woman on the biobed with a little remorse.

"Just out into the hall," he said.

T'Pol shifted her weight.

"She can keep an eye from us out there," he said.

"Okay, Phlox," Liz said.

The woman looked over her shoulder and then slipped outside. Phlox glanced at the monitor, stationed above T'Pol's head; though the sound hadn't been engaged, he noticed the moment Liz left the vicinity that the Vulcan's heartbeat quickened.

"Captain Archer came to me several weeks ago," he said.

She didn't respond.

"He said that you were afraid of him. Threatened by him."

She dropped her head against her chest. "I thought perhaps he might say something to you."

"It's not just him, is it?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, he asked again. "Is it all men?"

"Not _all _men. I feel … fear … when with particular ones."

"Captain Archer, myself and Commander Tucker?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her eyes flew to the glass door.

Phlox said, "I asked her to leave because I believed you wanted to keep this conversation private. She can see us there, but if you'd feel uncomfortable, I can ask her to come back in."

T'Pol took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "No. I … know my fear is irrational."

"Most fears are," he said, agreeing.

"Yes," she whispered.

After a brief period of quiet, he pressed ahead. "Why especially the three of us?"

"I … believe … I associate you three with what happened to me."

"How?"

Squirming in her seat, she closed her eyes.

"Whatever you say won't upset me," he said.

"Sometimes around you I feel … weak. I'm reminded of how … of how feeble I am."

"I think it's natural to feel this way. As your doctor, I see you at your most vulnerable," he said. "I'm curious why you _fear _those feelings."

Slowly opening her eyes, she told him. "I'm concerned that I'll never recover."

"Do you think that's the case?"

"I have … noticed … that my progress has been slow."

"Conversations like this, I believe, will help."

"I'm not so certain."

"Why is that?"

"Because this feeling is constant."

"You've been my patient before and you haven't felt feeble, have you?"

"No."

"Then what's different this time?" he asked.

She was quiet.

"Was it triggered by something?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"When did you start feeling this way?"

"I don't know. Perhaps when I awoke."

"When you saw Captain Archer and me?"

For a second, her lips quivered – as if a cloudy memory cleared.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said.

"You saw something."

"I don't know."

"Do you remember being taken here?" he asked.

Her lips twitched.

"Do you remember being taken here?" he asked again.

His eyes scanned the monitor above her; her heartbeat quickened and her blood pressure was beginning to skyrocket. Watching the stress through her vital signs made him want to pull the plug on the whole discussion, when he heard a response.

"Yes. Yes, I remember. You read off a list of my ailments."

"What do you remember?"

"I heard …." She stopped, her eyes beginning to tear up. "I don't believe I understood what happened to me until I heard it from your lips."

"You mean--?"

"Yes."

"You didn't recall what happened before then?" A frown took over his entire face.

"No," she said.

Ducking his head into his hand, he whispered to her. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. I hadn't realized."

"It's … strange … that on the planet I was unsure what he'd done to me."

"I think it's normal," he said. "What happened to you was traumatic. Most species, even Vulcans, block the memories of painful experiences."

Her lip quivered as her eyes continued their glassy hue. "What happened to me was nothing compared to what the Salans had to endure."

"What?"

"You don't know what happened to his people."

"_His_?"

"Ral's."

He gathered that was the name of the attacker – it was a name she'd called in her sleep when she'd first come back aboard Enterprise. When she'd said his name, there were pleas accompanying it; it sickened him to listen.

That is a name I'll remember, Phlox thought. His eyes narrowed. 

"His people were nearly exterminated and the Vulcans did nothing to help. I can understand his anger."

"That doesn't give him the right attack you."

She was silent.

"That doesn't give him the right to break your wrists, your ankles, your ribs …."

Her eyes lowered.

"It doesn't give him the right to rape you."

She turned away.

"T'Pol, there's a certain pathology to a man who does that. You understand it wasn't about you being Vulcan?"

She didn't answer.

"He wanted to do more than teach you a lesson. He wanted to demean and control you."

Quiet.

"You don't deserve that. No one does."

He heard no response.

"Look at me," Phlox said.

Her shiny eyes turned toward him.

"You're not to blame for any of this. I don't care what your race is or what happened between your people, his attack was personal. And it wasn't your fault."

She blinked slowly.

"And you'll recover. Despite Ral's treatment of you … maybe in spite of his treatment of you … you'll get better. Not because you're my patient, although I think I'm an adequate doctor, but because you're strong."

She didn't say anything.

"You don't realize -- you shouldn't be alive right now. Your strength, you determination to overcome any obstacle, kept you alive. And, it's one of the things I've always admired about you."

Her lips flattened and she titled her head. "I don't feel strong. What can I do?"

"Accept that you _feel_ and that it's irrational. Meditate on what's bothering you."

She nodded.

"Do you feel up for talking about why you're uncomfortable around Commander Tucker and Captain Archer?"

She didn't respond, so he took a guess for what bothered her about Trip.

"I know you don't blame Commander Tucker for what happened, but maybe you still feel angry about it?"

The look in her eyes indicated he was right, but she didn't confirm or deny it.

"Maybe _if _you feel that way, you should talk with him. I think it would help."

She was still silent.

"All right. We'll tackle that another day."

Relief spread across her face.

"But … I'd like to have these kind of talks once per day."

He sensed she was about to object.

"As your physician, I insist on it."

Two brown eyes stared at him. "Okay."

He smiled. "Okay."

He helped her off the biobed and noted with some pride, she didn't flinch when he touched her. When he got her situated into her chair, he called Liz in by waving two fingers toward him. She came in right away.

"T'Pol, you'll also recover sooner if you keep saying to yourself that none of this is your fault."

She gave a nod, but he wasn't sure she believed it.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the usual time for physical therapy," he said.

Liz gave a warm smile to the patient and then a quick wink to Phlox, which made him grin back. As the two left Sickbay, Phlox found himself a little lighter in the step as he went back to his microscope and Crewman Lee's flu.

* * *

After Cutler left T'Pol's quarters, the Vulcan stared at the ceiling and then closed her eyes. She'd thought about why she'd had trouble with Phlox, Trip and Captain Archer before. It was a notion that she'd spent many nights and days, huddled over a candle, examining.

Deep down, she'd always known what the problem with Phlox was even if she was unable to verbalize it to him. While watching the dancing flame, she'd pinpointed her terror: hearing him say the word "rape" and discovering it had happened to her. Memories flooded back to her since then.

At the time, she'd blacked out as if her mind refused to allow her to accept the events. Now, she had no choice. She couldn't suppress those memories, at least not without the aid of a Vulcan priest – something that was quite out of the question. Wishing the incident away would be illogical. It happened.

Stroking her gnarled ear, as if to calm herself, she had to admit that talking with the doctor about why he troubled her seemed to help. Instead of shying from his touch, she actually felt comforted by him … at least a small amount of reassurance.

Deep down, she'd also known her issues with Trip. Phlox was right. Logically, she knew that Trip wasn't to blame … and she didn't want to blame him. Yet resentment nagged at her. She believed discussing it with the commander would be a mistake; he'd take the information to heart and his friendship would disappear into thin air. Pretending she didn't feel that way, and dealing with her emotions, made a certain sense.

Perhaps she wasn't giving Trip enough credit. Although young, the man had incredible empathy and compassion. Talking about it could give their friendship an added boost; she'd noticed the feelings between humans often intensified when they overcame a problem together.

_Maybe Dr. Phlox is right. Perhaps I should talk with Trip._

While she had an answer for dread around Trip and Phlox, she had no explanation for Captain Archer; that was the only mystery she hadn't solved.

Recalling what happened a few weeks ago, how he'd tossed a phaser into her lap suggesting she could use it on him wasn't enough. She'd spent the entire time staring at him, eyeing him as if something would happen. A few times he'd glanced up from his book and had produced a small smile – one to soothe her; unfortunately to her, in the recesses of her brain, it had appeared menacing. Eventually he'd called Cutler in to help. Since then, she hadn't even seen him on a daily basis.

The truth was horrifying: Captain Archer reminded her of Ral.

And she had absolutely no idea why.

Using her skills as a scientist, she'd examined the issue from every possible angle: reviewing, analyzing and categorizing it.

The two had absolutely nothing in common.

Personality-wise, the two were polar opposites. Archer was noble, good and kind. He had compassion for every creature, even a small quadruped. He was a leader, someone people followed without question. The man inspired loyalty and hard work. A litany of other qualities that differentiated them, like a laundry list, existed. The differences in this arena were nearly infinite.

The two looked nothing alike; Ral was short, squatty and had red eyes, while Archer was tall, lean and had green ones. The two smelled nothing alike – Ral had the odor of decay dripping from him; Archer smelled like Porthos, Pine scented soap and salt. The two didn't even sound the same; Ral's voice had a tinny quality to it; the voice sounded like malice. Archer's voice was a bit nasal-y from time-to-time, but it was baritone – or at least in those ranges.

_Why do I smell Ral when the captain is near and hear his voice when the captain speaks? _

She shuddered.

The most perplexing piece to the puzzle was: she distinctly remembered wishing for his help. When her silent chants of ancient words passed down from the days of Surak - words that Vulcan children learned to stifle emotion – hadn't stopped Ral's thick fingers from stroking her hair, she'd silently hoped Archer would arrive. The man had always come in the nick of time, and she'd hoped by calling to him, even in her own mind, that he would do so again.

As T'Pol pondered the idea, the door chimed.

Wheeling herself gingerly to the door (which was about all her wrist could handle), she pressed the button on the door. As the door slid open, she saw Archer sliming.

"Captain," she said. She could feel the panic bubble in her throat.

"Just wanted to stop by. It's been a couple of days since I've seen you."

He didn't invite himself in, and she didn't offer. Instead, he leaned up against the doorframe. When she remained silent, he began to speak.

"You look at the scans I sent you?" he asked.

"Yes. Interesting. I'll have comments back to you soon."

"No rush."

She nodded. When he didn't exit, she decided to inquire further. "Is there something you needed from me?"

"Uhm, no. I just wanted to see how you were."

She raised both brows.

"What have you been up to?"

"I've reviewed the scans, met with Phlox twice a day and read a book."

"What'd you read?"

"A scholar's point of view on the time of Surak."

"What's the title?"

"The English translation is: _A Scholar's Point of View on Surak's Time."_

He smiled. "Aptly named. Was it good?"

She blinked. "The _scholar _was not as knowledgeable as he believed. And he refused to take into consideration a manuscript from one of Surak's students."

"Why?"

"Because the thoughts negated his own."

"I can see how that would be a problem." He grinned at his own joke.

Again, there was another pause, and he muddled through it.

"We miss you. It'll be nice to have you back."

"I'm … eager … to return as well."

He smiled. "Any news on when?"

"No. Dr. Phlox is displeased with my progress."

"Oh?" he said.

"However, I'd like to continue with our arrangement of working two hours a day. In fact, I might be ready to increase it."

"As long as Dr. Phlox doesn't think that'll impede your progress. I'll talk with him about it."

"I would appreciate that, sir."

He nodded. When their eyes met, his smile broadened. "Don't be afraid to let me know if you need anything."

She lied, "I won't."

He sighed. "All right. Take care."

The door closed behind him, and she briefly chastised the need for humans to make small talk. The effort didn't seem to forge relationships, instead invited awkwardness.

One thing struck the woman, as she locked the door: the captain rarely "chit-chatted."

* * *

As the door closed behind him, Archer's smile faded immediately; she was terrified of him. Still. It'd been two days since he'd seen her. And she still looked at him as if he was one of the men on Salanacon.

Hurting her was, had always been, the furthest thing from his mind.

Heading to Sickbay, he tossed a few thoughts around.

T'Pol was a vital member of the crew. It'd been seemingly forever since she'd manned her station, leaving instead Crewman Engle – fresh from Starfleet Academy, but without enough credits to enjoy the rank of officer.

The kid was nice, but didn't understand the small nuances that made the Bridge an operational breeze. The nodding of the head toward the turbolift was never understood, the furrowed brow Archer gave when he didn't believe the data and wanted it rechecked, the slight raising of the brow asking for an opinion. Robert Engle got none of those cues, and T'Pol had been on top of all of them. Always had.

In addition, Trip was a good first officer, but he was no T'Pol. Sure, he knew the crew better and was more apt at determining morale and moods, but he didn't have the grace, style and precision that the Vulcan brought to the role. When the scanners were out of alignment, she'd give him a percentage followed by a decimal. Disagreements didn't become a battle of egos, they were strategic as if the woman knew which arguments to pick. There was also a matter of experience. No matter how skilled Trip was, or had become, he hadn't been alive for sixty plus years to know the ins and outs of alien protocol. And he didn't offer knowledge of sixty years of studying planets and stars. T'Pol was a model first officer. The best in Starfleet.

Yeah, he'd missed her presence. To him, Enterprise hadn't been the same since. It wasn't just her skills as a science officer – including knowing his subtle gestures. And it wasn't just her knack for exactness.

Shuffling his feet to Sickbay's door, he watched the portal split apart to reveal his engineer and Phlox.

"Sorry I'm late," Archer said.

"No need to apologize." The Denobulan gave a lopsided smile. "I wanted to let you know that Crewmen Lee reported in sick."

"Yeah, how's he feelin'?" Trip asked.

"He has some mild stomach discomfort. Nausea. Diarrhea."

Archer winced. "Sounds like the flu."

"Glad it's not food poisoning," Trip mentioned. When both the doctor and captain looked at him, he explained his meaning. "I ate the rest of his pudding. Well, he said he didn't want it."

Archer shook his head as Phlox continued.

"The strain he has is highly contagious. It's rather inconvenient, but not painful. Each crewmember who contracts it will be off duty for fifty hours."

"Do you recommend inoculating the crew?" Archer asked.

"Wouldn't hurt for crewmen who haven't had it to build up some immunity."

He nodded.

Phlox said, "Now that's out of the way, I wanted to T'Pol's progress, or lack there of. Her recovery is not as speedy as I would've hoped."

Archer said, "She's been alone as much as she's wanted. You said that'd help."

The doctor agreed. "I did. But, her aloofness might be part of the problem."

Archer blew out a long breath and placed his hands on his hips.

"Psychology isn't an exact science," Phlox said. "And Vulcans are more difficult to treat than humans. They rarely discuss their feelings and they logician away any uncomfortable emotions rather than accept them."

"No kiddin'" Trip quipped.

"What do we do, Doc?" Archer asked.

"I've been wondering if she needs some time away," Phlox said.

"A vacation?" Trip asked.

"Yes," Phlox said.

Archer asked, "How much time does she need?"

"I think a month should suffice."

"A month! She'd never go for it," Trip said.

"I can give her a medical order."

Archer turned to Trip who shrugged his shoulders.

"One of us should go with her," Phlox said.

"You mean one of the three of us?" Trip asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" Trip asked.

Phlox looked into his eyes. "I think you know the reason."

Trip produced a small frown and then stared at his shoes. Archer's face turned a little sad as well.

"Would she even agree to it?" Trip asked.

"I think she would. She might _also _see the benefit of this."

Archer nodded to Phlox. "Then, I think you should go."

The doctor tapped his chin for a few moments. "Actually, I was thinking about you."

Shaking his head, Archer disagreed. "She seems to dislike me the most right now. Besides, as captain--"

"That is precisely why you."

His eyebrows knitted together.

"It's important she trusts you," Phlox said.

"I don't think it's a good idea. And I'd hate to force her into something."

"Captain--"

"I … I can't stand the way she looks at me," he admitted to Phlox. "I don't want to put her through that. She doesn't have the same terror in her eyes when she sees you or Trip. I can't do that to her, and I don't want to."

Trip raised his eyebrows and the captain ignored his engineer's gaze.

"Do you want her to return to work?" Phlox asked.

"Yes, but--"

"I doubt she'll recover unless you do this," Phlox said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"She needs to work through this. Her injuries are healing, it's her mental state that seems to be holding her back. If she doesn't do something drastic, she could be in a wheelchair a lot longer. And she'll never be able to resume her duties without … without looking you in the eye and not being frightened that you might do something to harm her."

"I don't like this," Archer said.

Trip offered up his thoughts. "It'll take a couple of weeks to get anywhere with a little blue and green anyway. I mean, before we do something like this we'll have her consent, right?"

"Of course. I would never do this without her approval."

Archer didn't cave.

"And I'll be speaking with her every day to talk about this issue and others she may have. By the time she's leaves, she won't stare at you with fear."

The three were silent, until Trip spoke up.

"Cap'n, sounds like the right thing to do."

After a long sigh, Archer finally agreed. "All right."

Phlox sighed, too. "Good."

"We could all use a little rest and relaxation," Archer said. "It's been a long time since we've had a break."

Trip smiled. "I'll work with Engle on it right away."

Archer nodded. "Thanks."

With that, Archer walked out of Sickbay. Turning down corridor after corridor, he was unaware that Trip was at his heel. When they entered the turbolift, the engineer spoke up.

"You seemed real hesitant back there."

Archer hung his head against his chest. "I just don't want to see T'Pol go through any more; she's been through enough already."

"I think we all feel that way. Everyone on Enterprise."

Archer agreed.

"Can we be frank, Jon?"

It was unusual that his friend called him by his first name. When Trip swallowed deeply and chewed the side of his lip for a second, the captain knew this was going to be a doozie.

"I'm thinking … I'm thinking there may be another reason you didn't want to go with her."

"Huh?"

"Remember about a year and a half ago?"

Archer shook his head. Honestly, the man couldn't remember what he had for lunch two days ago.

Trip said, "You asked me to stop seeing Sub-commander T'Pol."

Archer's hand hit the "stop" on the elevator.

"Do you remember what I asked ya?" Trip asked.

"Trip," Archer warned, "I don't think we should talk about this."

"You love her, don't you?"

"Not this again." He rolled his eyes. "No, Commander, I don't feel that way. I didn't then and I don't now. I won't _ever _feel that way."

"If you did … well … let's just say I understand. I know you can't tell her now, but maybe soon. You never know, telling her may help."

"I'm not in love with her."

"You spent a lot of time in Sickbay with her."

"She's a friend of mine. And you happened to spend a lot of time there yourself."

"You spent more. There's nothing wrong with falling in love."

"I didn't spend more." His eyes narrowed. "And actually, yeah – there's something wrong with it: it's in the rule books. Section 40, paragraph states--"

"I think just like then, it's an excuse."

Archer sighed. "It's not excuse; it's regulations."

The younger man didn't flinch.

"I'm her friend. That's it. That's all it will ever be," Archer said.

"You know when we yelled that day, I told you she would never return your feelings?"

Archer exhaled. "Don't do this, Trip."

"You remember don't you?"

"I think we're done." Archer's hand was about to hit the button to continue the elevator, when Trip grabbed his arm gently, preventing him from carrying out the motion.

"I was just angry and jealous. You two have always had this special connection. I think if you told her how you feel--"

"I'm done with this topic."

Trip sighed. "Captain, I've never seen ya cry. Ever. Yet, I saw you break down like a baby when we couldn't find her."

"That's enough."

"When she was in Sickbay, you spent every possible moment with her. And even now that she's in her quarters you drop by, even though you know it scares the hell outta her. I think _you _need reassurance that she's okay. Or, maybe you want to see her it makes you feel good."

Archer shook his head. "I said I'm done with this."

"I know the highs and lows of love. And Cap'n, no offense, but you're in it."

Annoyed, the captain shot back a few choice words.

"I care about every single crewmen under my command. _Everyone. _If anyone, and I don't care who it is, is injured, I'm going to park my ass in Sickbay with them until I see them take their post again. Understood?"

There was something in the engineer's demeanor that didn't look convinced, but seemed to give up.

"Yes, sir," Trip said quietly.

"Don't ever bring this up again," Archer added.

With that, he smacked the turbolift button and immediately felt it move. Trip got off on the engineering floor without so much as a word. As soon as he left, Archer clenched his fists, until the doors opened for the Bridge. Instead of taking his seat with purpose, he slipped into his Ready Room to be alone with his thoughts and strengthen his resolve.

_A month with T'Pol_, he thought. _If Trip knows, I wonder if other people do? I can't let her know.  
_


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Archangemon, thank you for your comments! You're not a pest at all. I enjoy hearing your thoughts, including things you like or don't like.

Aww, I'm sorry I disappointed you. I'll tip my hand. This story is primarily about T'Pol and her recovery. The story is secondarily about Archer. The story is thirdly about their friendship and her friendship with her two other close friends – Trip and Phlox.

In _Between Friends _and _Goodnight Enterprise_, Archer realizes he's in love with her. In fact, he pops Trip in the jaw almost severing his tongue. So, hopefully it's not a surprise when Archer admits how he feels himself here. I think it's not out of character for Archer to always feel that way, but to stuff down those feelings and conveniently forget them. If you've read _Goodnight Enterprise _(which you really should if you haven't – it would be a treat to the eyes and brain), you know nothing happens between Archer and T'Pol until that story which is approximately two or three years in the future.

Onto your other question: is this going to be all angst-filled? No, not the kind that I think usually plays out. Love is about sacrifice and his main objective is to make sure she gets better. Period. I hope that what the audience sees, partly, is how he and T'Pol continue to grow closer so that when the story in _Goodnight Enterprise _happens, we know why they feel this way and why it's been apparent to everyone else (which is a comment in the story) of how the two feel.

On the matter of _Two Things_… I don't want hate mail on what I'm about to tell you: it's already written. The problem is: it's lacking a certain something. Zest. Zeal. I'd like the ending (and toward the ending) to be full of gusto. I promise to have this done before October and will even release it sans gusto if necessary.

Goshabyn! You're not going to post more of _The Ambassador _until I'm done? I'm going to work harder on cranking this out, then!

* * *

T'Pol lay back on the biobed watching intently as the doctor checked her vital signs; it was a procedure he performed once per day, but something she still had difficulty sitting still for. The scanner waved over her with grave "hmms" – it always made her uncomfortable. She knew her own progress had been poor, even worse than it had been a couple of weeks ago when the doctor first voiced his concern.

Although she'd regained limited use of her limbs, she could barely sign her name on a duty roster much less force the large circles on her wheelchair forward. As Phlox touched her hand, he checked her pulse the old fashioned way. The Vulcan suspected he liked to test whether she still flinched at their connection.

Gazing at her with a frown, she could only surmise she trembled a little at their skin's contact.

"I've been meaning to talk with you about something," he said.

She pointed a brow in his direction. "Oh?"

"Enterprise is heading to a small planet for a little rest and relaxation."

"Elona," she said. "The captain wanted a recommendation for shore leave."

"Yes." He paused. "I've asked the captain to take you off the duty roster …."

"I'm only working two hours a day, and Vulcans don't--" she began.

He noticed the way she still spoke about her species with disgust and he frowned a little because of it. "_You_ need a break. You need some time to rest and recuperate."

"Doctor, I don't need time away; I can rest in my quarters."

"I know better than that. The answer is 'no.'"

T'Pol continued. "You recommended two weeks ago we converse once a day about what happened on the planet, and I've filled that request." She knew she hadn't been very cooperative.

Phlox said, "You're not getting better as quickly as you should."

As she was about to object, he chimed in. "It's already been decided that you're taking a break."

Her lips flattened.

"I've been discussing who would help you while you're on Elona," he said.

"I don't need--"

"How about Captain Archer?"

Her pulse raced and her breathing turned to a mild pant. Panic. Swallowing, she tried to calm her body so it didn't betray her. "The action doesn't seem wise," she said.

"You told me that you were interested in determining what your issues with Archer were."

"But …."

"I won't push you into anything." The doctor glanced at the monitor above her head.

"Then I prefer not to go."

His finger wagged in front of her. "You're going. You just have control over who helps you."

She waited.

"Because there are lingering issues with Commander Tucker and I, you could choose one of us."

Her eyes met the ground as she considered the information.

Phlox said, "I suggested Captain Archer because I think it's imperative, as the first officer of this vessel, that you and the captain come to trust each other again. This seems like an opportune time."

"I disagree."

"What do you propose?" he asked.

Blinking slowly, she looked down at her recovering (but still somewhat lame) hands. "I don't know," she said.

"I know he still frightens you. You've said you've been meditating on it nightly, but you haven't made any progress." It was a summation of every discussion they'd had for two weeks. "This might be an opportunity for you to explore why."

Ducking her head, vulnerable, her eyes pleaded his. "I'd prefer not to."

"I can't agree to let you go down there alone, and I can't abide by you staying here. Time away will help your body and mind--"

"My mental acuity is fine, --"

"No, it's not." Narrowing his eyes, he spoke a little more sternly to her. "I can't be more plain. As a Vulcan, you should've regained use of your hands. You should be able to walk – of course you'd need some support, but you should be able to walk."

"My--"

"You have strong muscular tissue and excellent reflexes. There's only one thing holding up your progress."

Her head hung against her chest. "My mind is sound."

"You've been unable to concentrate, unable to meditate as you once did, unable to recall events that happened on the surface. Going to Elona is a medical order."

She remained quiet.

"I've made a suggestion that I think will help, but the decision is ultimately yours."

The woman's eyes darted from left to right. "How long?"

"We could try a few days and see what happens."

She kept her jaw clenched and her body was still rigid with tension.

"I'll check in on you … that is, if you feel comfortable with it."

"I'd like to think on the matter."

He nodded. Waddling toward her, he picked her up and helped her into her wheelchair. As usual, she stiffened to his touch but allowed the exercise to continue, mostly because she knew it meant she didn't have to be in Sickbay any longer. Pushing her through the corridor, they rounded a bend and nearly ran into Trip.

The blonde smiled.

"Hey, there," he said. "I can take if from here, Doc … if you want."

The Denobulan smiled. "By all means." Looking back at his patient, he said, "Let me know your decision."

Phlox turned on his heel, without waiting for her response, and Trip began to whistle as he pushed T'Pol through the hallways to her room. When they stopped in front of her place, he grinned.

"Here you are, ma'am," he said. With the flick of his wrist, he welcomed her in and then guided her in.

"Thank you," she said. Amusement glimmered in her eyes.

"I hear you're taking a vacation."

The delight extinguished and her brow furrowed. "I've received a medical order."

"Hell, I know half the crew would love the kinda order you just got. I've listened to Rostov bitch all morning about being in the third group to get to the planet."

"I don't understand why I can't remain on the vessel."

He scratched his nose and then looked down at his shoes. "T'Pol, I gotta agree with Phlox. You've been …."

She blinked and then he shook his head, proceeding. "You've been actin' weird. I know you've been through a lot. A hell of a lot. And I think taking a little R and R won't kill ya."

"I do not wish to go."

"Remember last week?" he asked.

Avoiding his eyes, she gazed at the starfish like pattern of the relief that hung on her wall – a fossil from the first planet she'd ever explored.

"You woke up screaming," he said.

She didn't answer.

"I know you relive what happened on that God forsaken planet, but …. You need to move on."

"How can I?" she asked.

"Well, I think that's Doc's point. By getting away from things, you should be able to put a little distance on what happened."

"He's recommended the captain watch over me."

"What do you think about that?" he asked.

Clearing her throat, she slowly met his gaze almost too afraid to admit the emotion that strangled her throat. The commander had been her friend, and at one time more, so she exhaled silently and told him the answer.

"The idea frightens me, Trip."

"You've known the captain more than four years."

"Yes."

"Trusted him about that long?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he'd do anything to hurt you?"

"No."

He shrugged. "I don't understand the problem."

Quietly, she decided to answer her friend – it was something she'd already divulged to Phlox … it didn't make any sense to keep it from Trip who may have insight into the matter.

"When I hear his voice, I think of my time on Salanacon."

Trip frowned. "Why?"

"I don't know."

Withdrawing from his gaze, squirming from it, she fixed her eyes on the ground.

"Well, you shouldn't do anything you feel uncomfortable about," he said, after a few minutes of silence.

"Dr. Phlox commented that I would need to trust the captain before I could return to duty."

Trip nodded. "That sounds … logical. Hard to be the first officer if you can't work with the captain."

"Perhaps I should give up the position of first officer."

"Maybe. Is that what you'd like to do?"

"No."

"Then, maybe you should take Phlox up on his advice."

"I'm not ready."

"When will you be?" he asked. "Seems like you're not making a lot of progress."

That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"He's not gonna stick you there alone is he?" Trip asked.

"No. He _did _indicate he would visit me every few days."

"Maybe you can suggest every day until you feel comfortable."

"Perhaps."

"T'Pol, _everyone _wants to help you. I think whatever decision you make is the right one … something everyone will support you on … even the captain."

"I know."

"We have a couple of days until we reach Elona. Gives you some time to think about it."

"Thank you," she said.

He gave her a smile and then patted her arm. Turning to leave he looked over his shoulder.

"You know … you _could_ talk with _him_," he said.

"No."

"You talked with me." Giving her a warm grin, he continued. "That seemed to help."

The two watched each other for a few minutes. In the smallest of voices, not the one usually owned by her, she said a few words.

"Trip, you've always been a close friend."

Mildly, he chuckled. "Nah … not always."

She had to agree; there were times when she'd wished the man's mouth would remain permanently closed and that his dramatics would come to a halt, but those days had been some time ago. They'd given way to something that had become a spark between them – energy. That too had dissolved into the comfort of friends.

"And yet … there was a time when we were closer still," she said.

Looking down at his shoes, he agreed.

"I had my doubts about telling you. I was concerned you'd take it personally."

"But, I didn't."

"No."

"Maybe Captain Archer wouldn't it personally."

"It's not the same. Smelling you, hearing your voice … you never reminded me of Salanacon." She paused, pleading him with her eyes. "Captain Archer …. Everything about him reminds me of the events."

Trip gave a sad nod. "Seems like the only thing to do is figure out why."

She shook her head a little more fiercely than she'd intended.

"Whatever you want to do, T'Pol. I support you. Okay?"

Turning her eyes to her lap, she agreed. "All right."

With that, he left. When the door closed T'Pol struggled to wheel herself to her bed and drape a shawl over her. Cold. Dread spread down her spine and made her skin prickle and her body shake. It was the icy chill of memories – horrible ones.

What she couldn't tell Trip that was: Archer didn't just remind her of Salanacon, he reminded her of Ral …..

It was impossible to imagine withstanding even three days with the smell of rotting corpses souring her nose or seeing red eyes against a black backdrop trained on her. Shuddering, she couldn't live with hearing the captain say something to her and thinking that it was the villainous whisper of her captor.

Since she'd been talking with Phlox, she'd had flashes of what must be memories. Events that she'd been blocking out, not just suppressing, but repressing, had haunted her now with a vengeance.

Ral's voice had senselessly murmured words in her ear about all the atrocities committed to his people, his father in particular, as he snipped at her ears, broke her bones and poured chlorine down her throat.

"It's too bad you have to suffer for other Vulcans' mistakes," he'd told her. "It's too bad I have to teach you a lesson."

To her disgust, even as she heard the splatter of her flesh and blood echoing through the cave, she'd remembered nodding feebly as if they had made mistakes that someone should pay for …. She wasn't sure even now she disagreed.

"I hate having to do this to you," he'd said. His tongue had barely lapped at her mouth while she'd felt her life force flow from her body.

Quaking, at the memories, she'd recognized they didn't feature Ral as she'd rationally remembered him; the visions blurred with the image of Archer. In her recollections, his green eyes piercing stared down at her and she thought she heard his voice call out, dripping with menace.

"It's a pity you were born Vulcan."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Archangemon, thanks for the follow up. You're not a jerk, so no worry there. Reviews are supposed to be honest; I doubt anyone is offended. I'm glad you continue to write in.

You said, "an remember they cant get too close since in good night enterprise they seem to have never have this little get together maybe a working relationship an stronger friendship but no deep emotional bond thing."

Yes, that's precisely right. Here's the deal. T'Pol has conflict – how does she recover from tragic events? I wanted Archer to have a little conflict as well: how does he have a deep friendship with her without letting it become romantic (despite his feelings).

_Goodnight Enterprise_ hit me as a story about two people who'd cared for each other a long time. The writer indicated that (to paraphrase) everyone knew there was something between them, an unspoken love that brought tears to young women's eyes and a flush to young men's cheeks.

T'Pol, I'm not sure, knew how she felt. But, why else would she put up with crazy in-laws who were out to kill her, a man who dumped chlorine on her leg, etc.?

It seems Archer, though, knew how he felt. He'd been holding back his feelings. In _Goodnight Enterprise_, for example, the writer alludes to Archer and Trip getting into a fight over T'Pol. Somehow the argument manages to break Trip and T'Pol up, though T'Pol (years later) tells Archer it wasn't over him. And yet … you get the feeling that was a component.

Telaka: Namaste.

* * *

She'd meditated on the decision – whether to agree with Phlox's suggestion about vacationing with Archer – almost nightly for the past week. It wasn't easy to determine, despite knowing the logical course of action. _Logical. _Staying with Captain Archer on a planet while she recovered made sense; it would rebuild the trust between them. 

And yet … the very electrified every tendon with dread.

Looking at the flame, flickering on the end of the wick of her candle, she felt resolved enough to contact the doctor and was about to do so when she heard a chime at the door.

Sliding open the door, the man on the other side gave a troubled smile.

"Can I come in?" Archer asked. His face hell at her hesitation and he added a negotiation. "I can leave the door open."

"Come in," she said.

Listening to his voice and drinking in the odor of decay, Ral's scent, caused a shudder to ripple through her body. Her stomach tensed and she attempted, fruitlessly, to curl her fists into a ball as a red panic streaked through her.

"Thanks," he said. About to tap the button to close the door, he instead ensured it stayed open. "It's been a while."

It had been. She hadn't seen Captain Archer for a week, since Phlox broached the subject of staying with him, and even before then they had little interaction. Most of their correspondences had boiled down to strictly orders to first officer and responses to a captain, and much of them were written instructions or quick com conversations.

"How ya feeling?" he asked.

Breathing deeply, trying to relax, she allowed the discussion to continue. Every now and then, though, she felt her eyes dodge to the hallway as if she'd choose to flee.

T'Pol said, "Better."

"Good."

"I've confirmed the duty roster and have no additional changes. Did you want to review it again?"

She was about to wheel over to a PADD filled with names, when his voice halted her.

"No, I'm sure everything's in order." He sighed, scanning the ceiling with his eyes and then locking his gaze with hers. "Phlox talked with me about … well about the recommendation he made to you. He wanted to make sure I was okay staying with you."

She watched him fidget, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

He said, "I know it bothers you. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable telling Phlox 'no.'"

When she didn't respond, he kept going. "And frankly, I'm willing to overlook his medical order. I mean … I'm okay with you staying in your quarters."

This had been something she'd pondered late into the night. Although at the moment she was effective in her quarters as the first officer, she knew she wouldn't be for long. There'd come a day when they'd need someone who could relay orders from the Bridge on the spot, like during an emergency. Right now, she'd determined, she was a liability as first officer, and wasn't even excelling as a science officer; because of her limited range of motion, her analysis of scans was slow.

It made her wonder why the captain didn't just give everything to Engle who currently manned her station. The young man was somewhat inexperienced, but competent.

"I can't be effective from my quarters any longer," she said.

"Trip's been helping out when he can."

"I believe we both know that's not enough."

His frown widened.

She said, "Commander Tucker and I discussed the possibility that I give up my position."

"You mean as first officer?"

"Yes." Her eyes fell to the ground.

"Is that what you want?"

"No. That's why I've decided Phlox's recommendation has merit."

"I don't want anyone to push you--"

"No one has coerced me. It is merely the most … logical course of action." Internally, she spat the word "logic."

"There's no rush."

"I know."

"T'Pol, relying on emotion, even for a Vulcan, is okay. When humans have visceral reactions to--"

"My belongings will be packed by noon tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

About to step toward her, he held back rocking gently on his heels – antsy. "Maybe we … can … I don't know … discuss some boundaries or conditions. I don't want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable."

Staring down at her thumbs, she spoke quietly to him. "I apologize that my emotions have been so transparent. I was unaware you knew how I felt."

"It's okay."

"No. It's--"

"Really, it's okay."

"It's illogical--"

He waved her off, dismissing further apologies. "Forget it."

"But--"

"Forget it." Smiling, he added, "Consider it an order, Sub-commander."

Nodding, she stared down. "Yes, sir."

He sighed. "Okay."

Staring into his eyes and ignoring the horror that threatened to cave her resolve, she took a deep breath.

"Captain, perhaps you can close the door?"

He furrowed his brow and then pushed the button near the portal. Sliding with a hiss, it closed behind him.

"What is it?" he asked.

T'Pol licked her lips, still watching her feet that had been broken too badly to stand, and then spoke to him in the quietest of voices.

"I … there is no way to appropriately say this," she said.

"What?"

"I … you remind me of the planet. You remind me of … you remind me of him."

"Him?" He seemed to know exactly who that was, though she'd never mentioned it.

"Yes."

The pupils of his iris expanded and for a moment she thought his eyes became watery. When she blinked, they were clear as if there'd never been anything there.

"I haven't done anything, have I?" he asked.

"No."

"I'm sorry. I've been--"

"There's no need to apologize."

He scratched the back of his neck. "Still …. I don't know--"

"You've done nothing, Captain."

After letting a few seconds of silence pass, he cleared his throat. "Phlox or Trip should be able to help you, and both need time away --"

"No."

"T'Pol, don't do this to prove anything to me."

"I'm not."

"I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you overcome this."

"No. Dr. Phlox is correct. I can hardly be your first officer if I continue to feel this way."

"This will pass." With a lilt in his voice, he said, "After all, you initially didn't want to work with me."

With a serious tone, she contradicted him. "_This _is different."

Absent mindedly, he sat down at the edge of her bed. "Everything is fine the way it is."

"No, it isn't."

With a long sigh, he stared down at her bed.

"Accompany me to the planet," she said.

"_Now _this doesn't seem like such a good idea."

"I don't believe I have a choice."

"You always have a choice."

It occurred to her that perhaps he didn't want to invest his time this way. "Unless, you would rather not. I don't want to impose on you."

His fingers wrapped around his chin and he stared at the deck plating for a moment before answering her.

He said, "No." His voice was unconvincing.

"You also should not feel coerced."

He said, "No. No, that's not it. I mean, I don't like the way it makes you feel, T'Pol."

She was quiet, watching the furrow in his brow spread across his face to show more wrinkles.

"This would help me greatly."

"I don't know."

"I do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He was about to shake his head, when her voice betrayed a little emotion.

"I will not pretend that the thought of spending time with you is terrifying. But, that is the very reason I need your help, Captain. Please."

His eyes met hers and she asked again. "Please. I never ask much of you."

He agreed, softly. "You never do."

With a long sigh, he nodded. "All right. I … I suppose it wouldn't kill me to take a little break," he said. A small smile formed over his lips uneasily.

"Thank you."

"I'll meet you tomorrow at noon? I could pick you up on the way to the transporter."

She watched him stand, open the door and take one last look at her before leaving.

"See you tomorrow," he said, on his way out.

When the door closed, she released a slow cleansing breath. What felt like needles poking her skin were bound to reoccur now at least for the next week. Even now, when he'd sat on her bed, entering her personal space, the base of her neck throbbed uncontrollably with panic. As her fingers smoothed the skin at her throat where the flesh jumped, she closed her eyes.

_This does not bode well._

With resolve, she chanted over and over in her mind the words: "The decision has been made."

* * *

The chime at her door let her know what time it was: noon. The captain's punctuality, only on this occasion, unnerved her. Settling the cramping of her stomach, she wheeled gingerly to the portal to let him in. 

"Captain."

He was wearing casual clothes – something she rarely saw him in - and had a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. Wearing an awkward smile, he greeted her.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes."

She began to wheel to her duffle bag, when Archer intervened. "I can get it."

Nodding, she let him grab it and sling it over his other shoulder. Staggering a little under the weight, his grin broadened.

"Whatcha got in here?"

Innocently, she poked an eyebrow at him. "My things."

The two made their way to the transporter and when there, he heaped the bags onto the transporter, activated a ramp to wheel her up to the device, locked her wheelchair and then turned his head to Trip who suddenly appeared.

"Can't have you two go down to the planet without a goodbye," he said.

Archer nodded. "You'll let me know if you have any trouble?"

Trip's mouth sloped up. "I think I can manage just fine, Cap'n."

The two friends locked eyes with each other and Archer turned a little serious. "I know you can, Trip."

Looking at T'Pol, the engineer said, "Lemme know if you need anything. I'm a communicator call away."

Feeling the communicator stuffed under the arm of her Vulcan robe, she nodded. "I will."

Smiling, the commander pressed a few buttons and pulled a bar down until they shimmered into a town that looked something that Risa. It was a tropical paradise with lush vegetation, enormous sun-colored flowers that reminded T'Pol of the Bird of Paradise – an Earth flower she appreciated. Feeling a gentle breeze ruffle her hair, she turned her eyes to the sun; it shone brightly, lighting up an azure-colored sky. Around her green grass, greener the meadows on Earth or the spinach Chef served, covered the ground without a sidewalk in sight. A light music - maybe the rustle of the leaves of the palm trees (or what looked like them) or the sway of the flowers - drifted through the air. Although it wouldn't fit within the confines of what a Vulcan may appreciate; she found it serene.

Archer murmured behind her. "I didn't expect this."

Nor did she. As air filled her lungs and the sun's rays warmed her skin, she almost immediately relaxed even with Archer only a pace or two behind her. Olive-skinned humanoids covered in black, ritualistic tattoos grinned broadly and one, with hair like ebony silk, glided up to them. At first, she spoke in her native tongue and then handed them a receiver that converted her gibberish into words.

"Welcome. I am El'ani." Her gown fluttered in the breeze.

T'Pol gathered, like the Risans, these were simple and immodest people. It's why their planet was unencumbered with vehicles, cement or anything else that didn't belong in nature.

Archer said, "Hi. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer and this is T'Pol."

El'ani said, "I will be your guide while you are here, CaptainJonathanArcher and T'Pol."

The captain's face warmed as the woman couldn't distinguish between his first and last name. "You can just call me Jonathan or Captain."

"Which do you prefer?" she asked.

"Jonathan is fine."

"Your doctor contacted us ahead of time. You are staying at the May-or?"

Archer waited as if the word would be translated. When it wasn't, he furiously dug through his duffle bag, pulled out a PADD, powered it up and then eventually nodded.

"Allow me to escort you," she said. Wrapping her hands around T'Pol's wheelchair, she pushed her to their abode with the captain behind them.

Less than a quarter of a mile away, the reached a small circular house in the middle of palm tree clearing. The outside of the abode was colored in yellows, greens and blues – painted as if it should blend into the palette of the earth and sky. T'Pol noted the house itself was open – windows filled most of the space, as if the people of this planet loved being outside or looking out at the landscape so much they couldn't bear to be without it. The sound of a rumbling sea touched her ears and she wondered how close they were to the ocean. The captain must've had the same thought.

"Smells like salt water," he said.

"Zaya-fola," she whispered. "It's the name of our ocean. You can see if from your balcony upstairs, Jonathan."

She led the two through the front door and their first challenge. T'Pol noted that the living room was sunken, having only two steps leading to it, but enough to make it difficult if not impossible to get down into it. Luckily, the pale blue room was the only one sunken; the mustard-colored kitchen was on the ground floor. Turning to her right, she focused on the staircase and her lips twisted into a vague frown.

The guide shook her head, interpreting a question there. "That is for him. Your room is in the back."

Winding through the kitchen on the other side was a bedroom that was in a word: lavish. The ceiling was painted like the sky – black with small yellow and white dots on it. The walls below were painted in dark oranges and there was a slight hint of floral smell as if it had permeated the sheets. Like the house, the bed was round and ample for her to stretch out her body. Off to the side was a bathroom that contained a sunken tub. This room was covered in a color that reminded T'Pol of lavender – the palest of purples almost bordering on light blue. It was feminine, comforting and relaxing.

Wheeling back into the main room, she noticed a small balcony that looked out into the palm trees. When she squinted, she could barely make out the water through the thick of foliage.

"I'll allow you to get comfortable as I show him to his room," El'ani said.

T'Pol nodded and took a deep breath of fresh air. The captain was right, it had the vaguest smell of salt as if she could lick her lips and taste it. It was also so clean … so pure … so crisp … without the stench of decay or mold. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the sunshine and felt her neck roll back onto the back of her chair.

_Perhaps Dr. Phlox was right._

A planet like this could make her forget everything – about her father, about Vulcan. She could even almost forget Salanacon. Breathing deeply, she opened her eyes to stare into the sun as her nictitating membranes closed over her eyes to shield them from damage.

* * *

Archer looked around the house in wonder. For a small space, it seemed spacious enough that T'Pol could have her privacy and he would still have enough room to putter around the place and do the things he needed. 

After being guided up the steps, he broke out into a small grin at the upper level – it was one large room with a balcony that overlooked the tree-tops and out at the sandy beach and ocean. Beige and neutral colors covered the walls, as if the decorators didn't want to impede or compete with the spectacular view out his window. Poking his head in the bathroom, he was happy to see something that resembled a shower; he wasn't much into bathtubs. Returning to the view, he leaned against the sliding glass door and sighed.

"You can go on the balcony," El'ani said.

He smiled nervously. "I'm just fine here."

It never made sense to him; he was an avid rock climber – someone who'd scaled the tallest peaks on Earth and yet stepping foot onto a balcony unnerved him … him a captain who'd faced death more than once.

Remembering back, he recalled as a child he'd nearly taken a tumble off one; luckily his father had managed to grab his foot in time as he dangled in midair staring at the ground far below. Jon could never remember how he'd gotten into the situation, but that's when he realized he could always count on his father.

"You won't fall," she said, as if reading his mind.

Opening the sliding glass door, he stared out, careful not to step across the edge. Breathing deeply at the air, he filled his lungs to capacity and let it out slowly.

"Beautiful," he said.

The guide smiled. "I'm glad you like it. It is our intention to please."

That sounded good to him. _Maybe taking a little time off wasn't such a bad idea._

"What happened to your companion?" she asked.

The word companion caused his head to whip toward hers. "She was … hurt in the line of duty."

"She seems troubled."

He frowned, nodding.

She said, "This planet is known for its recuperative powers – for its healing effect. Your friend should be well in no time."

_I hope so._

"Do you require anything else?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head. "Thanks for your assistance."

He could hear the clip-clop of her sandals against the carpet as she made her way to the door. Before walking through, she turned; he could feel her eyes on him as if wanting to say more.

"I sense a close friendship between you."

"Maybe there was one …."

"There will be again. The planet's healing powers has been known to soothe many things."

"Thank you for your help."

"If you need me again, I will be in the village where you first found me."

With that, she left, and Archer found himself wanting to take a step onto the balcony and stare out at the heavens as the light in the sky turned from blue to the most brilliant tangerine and then to a pale purple.

Traveling amongst the stars was thrilling, but admiring them from afar – millions of light years away – appealed to his poetic side (not that he usually admitted that existed). As a meteor streamed across the sky, he gave a brief smile remembering when his father would encourage a wish. Even then, at the tender age of seven, the he knew such a thing wasn't possible … and yet, he made a wish all the same. He'd made a point of it any time he saw one.

"I hope T'Pol gets better soon," he said to himself.

Turning, he made his way downstairs to see what he could rustle up for dinner for the two of them. Clanging pots and pans, he noticed that T'Pol was still staring out like a zombie into what used to resemble trees, but now only appeared as a field of black … nothingness. It made him frown. He'd seen her nearly catatonic before ... when he'd flung her into his arms, after firing at the Salans, in a desperate measure to bring her back to the ship alive. Though she was talking, the words she formed made no sense; she'd questioned whether to admonish Trip for being late to the rendezvous spot. It made him remember that there was terrible secrets locked away in the young woman, things he would probably never know or understand.

His frown widened.

_I hope this planet has recuperative powers._

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, she awoke to the sound of humming and pots clinking and clanging in the kitchen. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up, but as the sunshine shone in her eyes, she realized it was time to awake.

Righting herself, she reached over for her wheelchair and scooted into it gingerly. She rubbed her eyes and gave the smallest yawns admitting silently that she'd slept better last night than she had in some time.

After preparing herself for the day – a shower, meditation and fresh clothes, she wheeled herself into the kitchen.

The first thing she was his rump in the air, hanging out of one of the cabinets, as curses fell out of the captain's mouth.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"I thought I put a bag of coffee beans here last night," he said.

Without waiting for an answer, he dove back under the sinks – crouching on all fours – to look one more time in the cupboard. As the pots and other accoutrement clattered and his fanny waved in the air furiously, his arms dug farther into the back.

"You could ask our guide to see if they have something that is the equivalent," she said.

Archer gave a glance over his shoulder and grumbled as he reached back into the cabinet.

"Or, you could ask someone from Enterprise to send something to you," she said to no one in particular.

Giving up, she wheeled herself to the table and settled against it to eat some of the fruit – locally grown – that he'd set on the table. The moment she stabbed a round juicy yellow object, cut it into pieces and shoved some in her mouth, she heard his voice call out.

"Help yourself to whatever's on the table. You don't need to wait for me."

Flinging her eyes to the kitchen with a slight twinge of guilt, she saw his form rise from behind the counter – as he'd made the comment before he saw her eating. Instead of scolding her, he produced a large toothy smile and his expression changed to bemusement.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He then jabbed his thumb to the door and suggested he'd do the very thing she brought up several minutes ago.

"I'm going to ask the guide about … a few things," he said.

She cut into another piece of fruit, nodding as he left.

Sighing, mostly because no one could hear her, she stared at the large windowpane to look at the trees that surrounded the back of the house. They waved gently in the breeze, rustling with the wind, just over the roar of the ocean. Tranquility.

Taking a deep breath, she could smell the ocean – the salt water – and occasionally heard the caw of a seabird. Here, it was more peaceful than she remembered. A beam of sunshine poked between a few trees hitting her squarely in the eyes.

An electrifying thought tore through her brain.

_A flashlight shone directly in her eyes and she tried to blink through it, but couldn't. She could feel the autonomic response – her eyes fluttering one way and then the other._

"_Can you hear me?" asked a voice. "Are you dead? Maybe she's dead."_

_Her throat was caked with mucus – as if she'd been crying for hours on end – making it impossible for her to respond. Although awake, her eyes were rolling back almost in defense. _

_She was catatonic. _

_Ral leaned over. "No. She's not dead. Vulcan stamina is legendary. She could withstand more. Much more. I think she just blacked out."_

_A voice shouted, "Not so snobby without her ears, is she?"_

_Another asked, "I wonder if she can still hear us?"_

_With all her might, she tried to move her lips in protest, but they wouldn't budge. _

_Ral said, "She's bleeding like a pai'nag. She's going to die of blood loss."_

_One voice, which'd been at her side almost as long as Ral had, spoke. "I'd like to write something." After tearing away the clothing at her stomach, he dipped his finger in her blood and wrote a few words._

_Ral looked down and laughed, then read it aloud. "Vulcan whore. Very original."_

_Her mind, which had focused on Archer as her ears were sheared, pleaded with the captain to rescue her as he'd done on so many other occasions. The man always had a way of showing up in the nick of time, and she willed him to appear in front of her eyes this time just like he would for anyone else. As if invoking a psychic bond between them, which she knew didn't exist, she called to him – echoing in her mind that she was in a cave and he should look for her there. The only thing that met her pleas was the void … black silence._

_A voice said, "You should write something on her too."_

"_All right," he said, menacingly. "Help me tear more of her clothing away."_

_Though she'd wanted to squirm and thrash from their touch, she couldn't make herself move. Silently, she called again to Archer, hoping he'd help her. Maybe she'd even let the words fall from her lips as the men crowded around her._

A hand gently touched her shoulder. "T'Pol?"

Shaking, she screamed until she felt her crack and go hoarse; it was a shriek that caused the birds resting on the trees to flap their wings frantically, flying away in alarm. Even the hand that once rested on her shoulder, retracted quickly as the owner nearly fell back with fright.

Her breath was ragged and she tasted the sweat that had already begun pouring down her face. Through a foggy haze, she could see Archer.

"I'm sorry," Archer said. "When I got back you were --"

Wild, her eyes almost as a reflex scanned for more assailants.

"Are you okay?"

Trembling, she blinked carefully. "Yes."

Easing back to stand farther away, he said a few more words. "You had a memory?"

She didn't say anything.

"Phlox said you may start to remember."

She didn't answer.

"T'Pol?" he asked.

She watched his face grow more serious with concern.

"Would you like me to call him down here?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

He blew out a deep breath. "T'Pol!"

"When you rescued me … was I clothed?"

"Huh?" Confusion spread over every feature.

"Did I have clothing on?" she asked.

"Listen, it's--"

"Yes or no?"

Licking his lips, he ducked his head and stared down at the floorboards. "No."

When her gaze stared out at the trees in front of her, she noticed Archer crouched down. There was more it looked like he wanted to say, but hesitated waiting for her response.

"I … I don't remember being naked."

Instead of explaining that he'd held her so closely to his body that she was covered with his, something she'd remembered only now, he fell quiet.

"I willed you to come, Captain. It was foolish of me to do so, but I willed you to come and help me."

"I tried--"

"When they … when they began to snip away at my ears, I thought perhaps you'd come soon. I thought to myself you'd arrive at any moment."

"I'm sorry. I did everything in my power to get there. I talked to the--"

"You've always managed to come just in time before."

"T'Pol--"

"When we first met, you took fire for me, when I was alone in the snowstorm … when I was in danger of being killed by the Suliban."

"I did everything I could --"

"I knew you didn't want to necessarily save me from the Suliban. But, I believed you thought life was important … even my own."

"Listen,--"

"It was irrational of me to hope you would liberate me, and yet I did … because you have done so in the past …."

"I'm so sorry. If I could've been there instead of you--"

"I … I believe some of my fear about you is …. I'm concerned next time you won't come at all."

She could tell he wanted to say something, but he listened instead.

"I'm …" she looked out onto the clearing and then the trees that surrounded the house. "In some way, I believed that perhaps you weren't eager to help a Vulcan."

The words were difficult to spit out, but the impact of them left him speechless.

"I thought perhaps you still held a grudge against me," she said.

Silence broke way to confusion, and after several seconds, he finally responded.

"You _really _think that?" he asked, softly.

She stared ahead as he emphatically denied the comment. "You _know _that's not true."

Rationally, she knew it wasn't true, but it'd crossed her mind – even when she'd waited for her clothes to be ripped away by savages who'd wanted to leave their mark on her. And for a split second, she'd wondered if Ral and the captain had something in common: a hatred for her people.

Seeing if Archer was still behind her, she looked back and met his eyes; they were tears clinging there. There was a friendship with him, and this between them – something that had been a long time - was difficult to discuss.

"Ral's father was killed, not by the Vulcans, but he blamed them," she said. "It's why he chose to torment _me_."

"I don't think you're responsible for my father's death," he said, weakly.

"You think the Vulcans are."

"No."

"You did."

"I would never …," he said hoarsely. "I did everything I could to get there in time. Everything. I would've given anything to help you. Trip and I--"

"You blamed us for not just hindering your father's work, but for ending his life."

Archer shook his head vigorously.

"Captain, in the past I've wondered if you blamed me. And, for an instant there on Salanacon, I believed you chose not to help me as a way to make me pay … for my race to pay."

"No."

"Do you deny you once blamed me?"

Imploring, his eyes asked her to stop and yet she couldn't. Taking this discussion to its logical conclusion was what she and Archer had agreed to do here, even as difficult as it was.

"Captain?" she asked. It was gentle nudge.

Stuffing his hand through his hair and letting his head go limp, he watched the ground. "Maybe when you were first assigned to Enterprise. But, … that was a long a time ago."

She nodded, as if that was the answer she'd been anticipating all along.

He said, "You've got to believe me when I say I would've done anything to get to you sooner. I--" He opened his mouth as if there was more to say and then closed it.

"Rationally, I know."

"But--?"

"I wanted to discuss this with you … for you to understand one of the reasons I am afraid …."

The dullness in his eyes and the grimace that spread over his face said everything. She'd never thought he was _like _Ral, or never would've made that connection until recently.

"During my capture, Ral wrote words on my skin with my own blood."

Archer bit his lip and as a reflex he leaned forward. "T'Pol--"

"They read: This is for you, Father."

His voice was still hoarse. "I'd never do anything to hurt you. Not now … not even then."

Drawing her limbs a little closer to her, as if cold, she looked back out at the trees. "My thoughts are irrational. My emotions …. If I had a priest to help me …."

He sighed and then after a few minutes spoke to her. "What can I do?"

"I don't know."

Archer bent his head. "You told me that you agreed in some ways with Ral. That your species is to blame."

"I do."

"What makes you think you're the one who needs to suffer on behalf of all Vulcans for their mistakes?"

She was silent, and pondered the question. "The Vulcans have made many mistakes." Pausing, she glanced at him. "I believe they made a mistake in how they chose to deal with humans."

"Hatred and prejudice is aimed at a group of people, not a person." He knelt next to her. "When I got to know you, I realized you weren't just a Vulcan."

"I told them my name. I thought it might help telling them my name." She noticed he waited for more information. "Shouldn't it have made a difference?"

Reaching tentatively at first, he wrapped his hand around hers and held it firmly.

Silence broke out as she stared out into the area behind them. Her breathing was a little erratic, as if her emotions were just beginning to overcome her. She'd been amazed at her own control during the conversation.

"I never hated you, T'Pol," Archer said.

Nodding, she accepted that information.

"I may not have always liked you, but I never hated you. I may've blamed the Vulcans for what happened to my father … but after knowing you, I understand more."

He sighed. "Now I wonder if the Vulcans weren't right -- whether we were ready to explore the stars."

Turning her head, she looked back into his eyes.

"I sometimes think if my father was such an exceptional engineer, he should've made his own engine fly instead of relying on the Vulcans."

She understood that was a difficult leap for him to make, or at least a difficult point to concede. By the look on his face, it was not easily admitted; the very notion and possibly saying those words, brought him grief.

"You don't like the Vulcans even now, though," she said.

A pained expression fell over his face. "I don't like them because of the way they treat you."

T'Pol was not a woman driven to extreme emotion, but something about the way her commander said that made her stomach shrink and her throat constrict. Swallowing, or attempting to swallow, she felt tears run down her face.

She'd never quite fit into Vulcan life – the emotionless rigor of her people never sat well with her. She'd always been a disappointment to her father who spoiled his attention on her brothers. Her entire existence, to him, was a lifetime of disappointments: how she'd nearly failed her rite of passage - the kas-wan, her strong attachment to her selhat, her interest in other cultures even over her own often caused concern and her insatiable curiosity. Admittedly, she'd indulged in foolish endeavors - reading Vulcan love sonnets as a young girl and spending what her father considered far too much time on her appearance.

It was a lifetime spent, as her father would say, in pursuit of the irrational and emotional. It was not the Vulcan way.

As an outcast, a rebel – it was odd that years later she would serve as the face of Vulcan to many races the humans, Andorians and to people like the Salans.

Wiping away her own tear, she looked into Archer's eyes, which were also glassy.

"I'm sorry. I'll never let you down again," he said.

The promise was illogical, but it gave her comfort even if the touch of their skin – his hand was still firmly clamped around hers - unnerved her a bit.

"That is a vow you cannot keep," she said.

"I'll do my best to keep it, if you don't hold yourself responsible for what happened."

That was a promise she couldn't keep either.

"I'd like to spend some time alone today, reflecting," she said. The comment had cut through the moment and helped release her hand from his tight grasp.

"Sure," he said.

"I'll be on the back patio if you need me," she said.

He nodded. "Okay."

Wheeling herself back into her bedroom and then out the door, she felt emotionally drained. Perhaps this is what Dr. Phlox wanted her to ruminate on during her "vacation." Suddenly the paradise around her seemed more foreboding.

A storm brewed on the horizon.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

The wind kicked up, rushing her hair back against her face and dark clouds hung along the skyline. The once bright and magnificent sun of this planet was now covered, shutting out all light. A crack and a flash across the sky brought the first drops of rain as they melted into the earth.

T'Pol thought the rain, pure and sweet, would feel good against her skin and she wheeled herself to the edge of the patio near the railing to hold out her hands.

There were other memories, lurking, waiting to unleash themselves, but for now she wanted to focus on the one that had just jiggled free; it was painful enough to review several times over.

When she'd first met the captain, she'd surmised he was racist. It wasn't just the curse he'd tossed to her in Starfleet Medical, or the venom behind the threat, when she'd arrived onboard it became clear he held her entire people at fault for his father's death. And yet … even through his mistrust, he managed to save her life.

Part of the reason she'd held out hope that he would come and take her away from the cave and the men who meant to do her harm: she knew he would help. He'd move heaven and hell – and anything in between – to ensure she was safe and sound. He did that for his entire crew, and had ever since she'd known him.

_It's unfair of me to blame him for what happened._

Archer was right, those days of prejudice were only a distant memory; she'd become a trusted team member within the first three months of working on Enterprise. Within the first six months, they'd even become friends. The two had, by choice, taken meals together, discussed books and made other conversation that had nothing to do with Enterprise's operations or the crew for years.

She wondered what her words had done to that friendship … even the foundation that was built years ago.

The man was hurt and the excruciating pain of his face – the glassy eyes, turned down mouth and furrowed brow – was plain to see. It bothered her now to know she'd caused that. Each word she'd delivered seemed to torture him.

_How could I accuse him of such a thing? Why would I think that?_

Feeling the cool wet drops splash against her hands and face, she sighed. The pitter pat against the back steps sounded like the water dripping from the walls of the cave.

_I think these memories unearthed pure emotion. Emotions I wasn't even certain I could feel._

Like a child who kicks and screams in frustration, T'Pol had no outlet or understanding for the way she felt. Although she'd always been an emotional creature, at least for a Vulcan, she had no experience with these feelings. She had no idea their power or how and why they manifested themselves.

Bottled up inside was pure rage – hungry like a fire - that consumes everything in its path for fuel. Despair, it was there as well; the loss of a certain innocence that never believed a culture would be so depraved, and the absence of security as if she'd ever be safe again. The fury was focused on everyone around her; it's most recent release flailed out against the captain. The hopelessness was directed squarely at herself.

_I don't understand why._

Staring into the rain, which started getting heavier, she wheeled back, just out of its touch and closed her eyes to think about the event that came to mind.

After Ral and his men scribbled their curses on her flesh, they'd stripped the rest of the clothes from her, shoved chlorine down her throat and discussed, drunkenly, whether it'd be best to burn her body or shoot her. As their rowdiness had reached new heights, she'd started begging them - on her broken hands and knees - to end her life quickly. The taste of blood flowed from her ears, still, to her mouth and yet she pleaded with wet eyes. She'd promised they could do whatever they'd wanted to with her body. She'd bartered that if they ended it quickly she would give them anything. Anything. She'd even kissed Ral's hand, a blessing in Salan society, asking for this smallest of favors. The gesture had forced a smile on his face, and with care he'd twirled her blood-smattered hair between his fingers.

"That's my good girl," he'd whispered.

As he'd picked up a board and reared it over his head, meant to deal a blow quickly so that they could indeed do their worst after she'd lost consciousness, she'd heard a commotion in the street. A shadow moved through the corridor – terror on his face and such anguish that she'd wondered if he'd suffered from these men as well.

Viewing this creature, the board delivered its blow, but the severity wasn't enough to kill her, just daze her as if the perpetrator had other things to worry about. Staring hazily at the scene, she'd seen the shadow aim – point blank – at the men, felling them like trees. By the sizzle of the sparks made, she knew the phase-pistol strength had been high, as if to kill these creatures.

Before closing her eyes, she'd remembered mumbling various things – things about work, duties she'd needed to perform. In the midst of reeling off the list, she'd suddenly been scooped into his arms and huddled against his body protectively. Crying, he'd apologized – for what she was unsure - rubbing his finger along her cheek as if she'd been a patient in his care.

And for a moment, she'd gathered clarity. His face - dirty, sweaty, tired and unshaven though it was - had been the one in her darkest hours she'd most wanted to see. His voice had been the one she'd conjured when she was at her most hopeful and the one she'd nearly prayed, though she never believed such a thing was logical, for when things were at their most dire: safety, her friend.

With a small sigh, she stared out at the clearing.

_That is hardly the way I treated him, now. _

It had been seven hours since their discussion – something she would've ventured was an argument – seven hours that she'd spent in silent reflection watching the rain without anything to drink or eat. Wheeling back into the kitchen, she almost expected to find him there. When she didn't, she wheeled through the first level of the house, searching for him. He wasn't there. A certain panic shot through her limbs and for the briefest of moments, she wondered if he'd left, not that she would've blamed him.

_Perhaps he's upstairs._

Taking carefully around the sunken living room and then to the edge of the stairs, she looked up at the open door.

"Captain?"

There was no answer.

"Captain?"

She saw a figure stir from the bed, get up and lean over the stairwell holding a book.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like something to eat?"

"No, I'm alright. I had something a little earlier. If you're hungry, there's something on the table." He paused. "I didn't want to disturb you."

She felt her face the weakest of frowns.

"May I speak with you?" she asked.

He gave a guarded look and then nodded. "Sure."

Moving down the stairs and to the end of them, he helped wheel T'Pol to the table she'd sat at earlier that day and then slid into a seat opposite from her.

"I … I apologize," she said.

Looking at the window, he said, "You don't need to."

"I do."

"What you said about my father … my feelings about him. You were right."

"That was several years ago."

"It doesn't make it right." Staring at his thumbs, which he fiddled with nervously, he continued. "I never really apologized about that."

"We've been friends for many years more than whatever misconceptions you had about me. I had many of the same about you."

Meeting her eyes for just a moment, he gave a lopsided smile. "That's true."

The two were silent, when Archer looked back out the window.

"I've been thinking …. I asked Phlox to come tonight."

She'd forgotten she'd asked the doctor to come once per day.

"I think I'd like him to stay here," he said.

"There are only two bedrooms," she said. And then she realized the implication. "I didn't intend to offend you earlier."

"It's not that."

"The words I said … I didn't mean to hurt you."

Gazing into her eyes, he shook his head. "It's not that either."

"Then--?"

"T'Pol, these people … they did terrible things to you. I … I can't imagine what you must be going through. I don't think a friend is what you need. I think you need a doctor."

She shook her head as if she didn't understand.

He said, "I don't think you're just remembering moments. I wonder if you're reliving them."

A furrow ran across her brow. "I don't believe so."

"I think you need help, and I don't think I can give you any," he said.

He stared out the window again, and she believed he was distraught at having to deliver the news.

"I think I understand the primary reason Phlox asked _you _to come," she said, calmly.

She watched his face and noticed his jaw tensed.

"I only seem to recall memories around you," she said. "I believe Phlox thinks _you _can help me uncover them and work through them."

Looking down at his lap, he didn't respond.

"I know it must be difficult for you, but I need your help."

He didn't comment. Focused on the rain, his mind seemed to be miles away. She understood her friend well enough to know how he handled being hurt: he either yelled or brooded. What he was doing now was undoubtedly the latter because whatever he felt was aimed directly at himself. She decided to lull him from it.

"Ironic though it is, my memories are not all unpleasant."

The comment grabbed his attention enough to look into her eyes.

"I remembered when you found me. You were worried I wouldn't live."

He nodded.

"I felt an emotion once I realized it was you and that I was safe."

He waited.

"Elation," she said.

His voice hoarse, he finally responded to her. "I may've been worried, but I was elated, too. I'd almost given up hope."

"Tell me," she said.

Archer furrowed his brow, and then went on to recount the days they'd spent searching for her. Each detail reaffirmed he _had_ done everything he could to help her, like one about bartering to retrieve her. Although he hadn't said what he would give them in trade, she could only imagine it was illegal contraband – something that Starfleet would never approve and something that he would only do under in the direst of situations. She knew the Salans lacked sophisticated weaponry, and knew that's what they'd want, not medical supplies.

At the end of his story, she hung her head to her chest.

"I didn't realize," she said.

He looked out the window. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're back."

"I understood from Commander Tucker you were scolded for being late to the Tellar."

"Enterprise was only three hours late."

"The engines were pushed to warp 4.7."

He shrugged. "It's a warp 5 starship."

The two held each other's gaze.

"My problem is that …," she said. The words wouldn't come.

"You're angry," he said, quietly.

"Yes."

"I know. I don't blame you."

"However, I'm not angry at you."

"I know."

"I apologize for earlier."

"It's okay."

When he looked away, she noticed his brow dipped as if he was uncertain the right course of action.

"Are you staying?" she asked.

"T'Pol--"

"I still need occasional help getting around."

"You don't need much."

"Who would cook my meals?"

"Phlox would, although I think you've gained enough strength to do it yourself."

"Who would help me remember?"

He shook his head.

"Captain, I would like you to stay."

He stuffed his hand through his hair, as if he was about to decline, so she sweetened the deal.

"I need you. Please stay."

In a way, she knew he wouldn't be able to refuse and he produced a slow nod.

"All right."

A smile worked itself into her eyes, it was the first time she'd felt good in a long time. Judging by the strange glimmer in his eyes, she wondered if he also felt oddly happy.

"Thank you," she said.

Producing a small smile, he nodded.

She took a plate of fruit and stabbed at a few. Looking down at her bowl of vegetable soup, which had grown cold, Archer intercepted.

"I can heat it up for you, if you're hungry."

"I would like that."

"All right," he said.

Fussing around in the kitchen, he threw a few things together as she looked outside. The rain was only starting to taper off and something of a rainbow shone brightly overhead. There were still storm clouds in the distance, but she silently determined she was enjoy the respite.

A/N: This story is almost over. Only another few chapters to go.


	13. Chapter 13

Two days after her first and most terrifying memory, Dr. Phlox during his daily visit announced that her condition was improving and that maybe – maybe – within a months she might be able to walk with some support. He praised her for having done her physical therapy (exercises that he'd deemed would strengthen her muscles) and indicated, gently, how thankful he was that she'd worked through some of her memories. T'Pol was thankful that despite not having conveyed all the details of her recollections that the doctor understood she was beginning to work through her issues. It somehow gave her faith that she was doing the right thing.

In between Phlox's daily visits, she spent a great deal of her time alone, looking out at the trees from the back porch. On several occasions Archer had offered to take her to the beach – so she could see the rumbling of the water and feel it against her skin; each time she'd been tempted to accept, but had declined. Although she felt more comfortable in his presence, it was difficult to imagine being out in the waters relying on his strength to keep her standing.

Memories indeed flowed back slowly, creeping into her mind sparked by the smallest coincidences – a smell, a sound and sometimes something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Carefully, she'd unwrapped each recollection – examining it as if to study and dissect it. Through the process, she'd learned that disassociating memories was the greatest challenge and thus far her finest achievement. Rather than become unnerved and frightened at every single terrifying image, she'd gained a cool acceptance to the information in front of her as if she were only watching the events unfold rather than participating in them … at least with the majority of the memories.

She exuded the same scientific detachment and curiosity about her housemate, Captain Archer. When she'd dated Tucker briefly, she found it strange that the human would whistle or hum when he was happy. Now, studying Archer, she found it was a common human trait; every morning the captain hummed quietly to himself – as if he was completely unaware of this habit – as he made his breakfast. She couldn't quite determine whether the ritual was because he was happy, or began to make himself so.

That wasn't the only thing she scrutinized; she also cataloged his afternoon customs. After coming home from the beach, he'd toss his towel on the floor (a source of small irritation to her), grab a book or PADD and lay out on the couch to read. Although she stared at him merely a few feet away, he never seemed to notice – totally engrossed in the story - he'd even chuckle or give a low query at the sentence or word he read.

The most interesting part of his afternoon ritual was how he approached reading; every day he did precisely the same thing. Examining him, she watched his eyes crinkle at the book, to smile or think, and a hand dodge through his hair - now past regulation length, curling slightly at the ends. Stretching out his lean and muscular body, he stayed in his swim trunks and left his chest bare while he cradled the book to him, resting against his fur-covered stomach. His long, hairy legs rubbed against each other, as if he enjoyed the feel of his own skin or was overcome by an itch. And occasionally his hairy feet and toes flexed, cracking and popping to his deaf ears.

Something about this ceremony fascinated her. Perhaps it was the utter devotion to performing the exact same movements every day, despite his intentions to do so. Perhaps it was because she found comfort, though she would never call it that, in the vision of him casually lingering on the couch to relax or hearing the low rumble of his laugh at the mirth the book brought. There was yet another reason, and it was the most troublesome: looking at him dressed in slightly less than he would wear in Decon made her wonder about her romantic future.

_Will I ever feel comfortable with a man again?_

It wasn't necessarily this man; she'd known the captain as a friend and the relationship was most rewarding in that state. She was more concerned about her future. Logically, she deduced, she would be caught in a predicament with a man at some point in the future – one that might lead to intimacy. Given what happened, would she ever want a man to see her naked or want to feel him touch her bare skin … even in the fires of Pon Farr?

_No._

During the ordeal on Salanacon, many things had been stripped from her – dignity, logic, self-importance …. Among the things she now found missing were basic necessities – the will to eat, the need for shelter and sleep and the need for sex. Fortunately, Vulcans sexuality was hushed and forbidden. But, even as a woman, she had to recognize that part of her identity was her sexuality; that personality traits that was now displaced. Worse, it was an albatross around her neck and made her question her every movement and motive.

It was difficult for her to shower and see her own form naked. It was difficult to brush her hair in the mirror and see her misshapen ears. She shied from any activity that would show her reflection and tried to deny looking at her nude form – in any way at any time. Ignoring the scars from her injuries – both mental and physical – was easiest.

On the fifth day, when Phlox took her vital signs, she decided to announce what she'd been thinking.

"I won't need your services again until next week," she said.

"Next week?" Phlox asked. The overextended smile on his face took up his entire face.

"Yes. I've decided to stay."

It didn't make sense to take her insecurities elsewhere and she felt a certain comfort in being in the company of her captain, though they only saw each other for dinner.

The doctor agreed right away, provided additional physical therapy and was about to leave when the Vulcan asked for a favor.

"Could you ask Chef to send more coffee?" she asked.

The doctor nodded, without making any comments about how the captain was the only one in the house who drank caffeine, transporting back to the ship.

* * *

From Archer's point of view, the week was spent as if he was really on vacation. He poured through stories he wanted to read or re-read either draped on the sofa or lying on the loamy sand of the beach. Naps were taken during the day, something he hadn't done since his childhood, giving way to the most spectacular Technicolor dreams. Every day he swam in the refreshing waters of the ocean – usually around lunchtime – kicking and splashing in the sea without a companion. He warmed his skin under the rays of the single shining sun, sometimes watching the clouds drift by and imagining them to be either people he knew or mythical creatures from Earth's lore.

It was peaceful, but – if he was honest with himself – it was a little lonely. Nearly every minute of the day, except ten minutes around almost every meal, was spent by himself. Knowing T'Pol needed to rest and recuperate, he tried giving her a wide birth and the space she needed to do so, despite him wanting to chat it up with her or take her with him to the beach or the various discoveries he'd found. And although as an only child he'd occupy himself for days without much interaction, he'd gotten used to a ship crowded with more than eighty people who all demanded his attention. Sure, they mostly sought approvals or commands, but still there was human contact.

Some days to keep his mind and body engaged, he went for a run, whizzing past new sites and sounds – occasionally stopping or slowing to see more detail or talk with locals; the captain found out he didn't like to just explore the universe with all its mysteries, he enjoyed the adventure of the unknown even on land. Every now and again, during that week, he bumped into his guide – the woman with the tattoo along her face and the raven hair.

On the fifth day, covered with sweat and sensing a sharp tingling in his legs that reminded him he'd covered more than seven miles, he saw El'ani. The woman tipped her wrist, waving him over to her and he decided to end his exercise for the day and head toward her.

When he got there, she produced an enchanting smile, one that made him give on in return.

"Your friend is getting better?" she asked. Actually, the statement sounded as if she already knew.

"Yes."

Nodding to a small hut, only a few feet away, she led him inside. It was vacant except for two benches and a mat, as if it were used for what humans might find as a place to picnic. Stepping inside, he saw the guide kneel on the mat and light something that looked like incense.

"I thank Tomoreh then," she said.

With continued curiosity, Archer stared on.

She said, "He is the god of dreams and memories. I've been asking him to help your friend to counsel her."

She turned to the captain and spoke again. "Blow out this stick."

Leaning carefully over, he pursed his lips and huffed, sending a spiral of smoke into the air. The scent of the incense was heady and almost immediately he felt dizzy.

"She's undergone so much," he said.

He made his way over to the bench until the light-headedness passed.

"You wouldn't be here unless she was very important to you," she said.

Glancing up, he didn't answer.

Staring out the open portal that led back outside, he shook his head to himself. Long ago, he'd made the decision to admire her from afar, showing her how he felt by being a devoted friend and unyielding captain. With his duties and responsibilities, it was easy, most days, to hide his deeper feelings or pretended they didn't exist. Most days.

Most days didn't include when he'd caught her and Trip out in the corridor kissing and whispering. Most days didn't include retrieving her from Salanacon. The emotions both events caused were wildly different, but generated from the same source.

Love.

_Trip and T'Pol in the hallway._ When he'd heard an ensign in passing gossip about her and Trip, jealousy had itched every nerve ending and had forced his heart to thunder in his chest as if it would explode in his ears. It'd donned on him later what he'd felt: although he'd loved her (which was somewhat surprising to him) he'd believed she'd never return a human's feelings, and that it hadn't been appropriate to bring them up in the first place. T'Pol apparently _could _return those emotions and did, it just wasn't for him, it was for Trip. The revelation had been a blow to his ego, but more importantly had quieted the poet in his soul, the one locked behind the mantle of captain. Burying his feelings deeper, trying to root them out completely, he carried on as if the event never happened - that the information that had come to light had actually never surfaced.

_Salanacon._ That façade had all come crashing around him the moment he'd learned that she was lost on Salanacon. When the news had been delivered, he'd remembered feeling nauseous and yet sparked into action; his gut knew almost immediately something was wrong, horribly so. After he'd transported to the planet, he'd been steadfast that he wasn't going to leave her, despite the orders he received from Forrest to help the Tellarites. Starfleet could drag him in front of whatever tribunal they'd convened and strip him of his bars in a dramatic court martial, and he'd walk out satiated knowing she was safe. He'd reckon to his dismay, he'd even let thousands of Tellarites lay in the streets dying, waiting for Enterprise and a vaccine, before he'd leave her. That thought frightened him, a reminder of why he couldn't reveal his feelings in the first place or let them get in the way.

Each day had grown more precarious. His team had been exhausted, and if he let himself, he'd be as well. Staying up for seventy-two hours had taken a toll on their mental and physical well-being, not that Reed or Trip complained. When all hope had been lost - the moment where his actions as captain and his feelings as a human had waged war and the man was on the verge of destruction – he'd spied her out of the corner of his eye. Moving faster than he'd thought his feet could carry him he'd scrambled through the town without a plan, without backup and without remembering to unholster his phase pistol. Scurrying to draw his weapon, he'd shot blindly at whatever was between him and the huddled, shriveling mass in front of him that had been covered in green blood, without heed to the setting of his gun. Bodies, he hadn't been sure how many, had fallen and lay strewn on the street; a few even ran away from the chaos. Rather than doggedly track down the culprits, he'd cradled her in his arms, rubbed her cheek as he'd wanted to for ages and had gingerly removed his communicator from a zipped pocket to demand immediate transport.

Since then, he'd been trying to do whatever was needed to revive her and help her discover the woman she once was; he was the link to tie her to the present and the past. The challenge wasn't easy, the events on the planet didn't just scar her fragile ears, it marred her emotionally turning her from the confident Vulcan who strode down the halls to a timid one who looked around every corner.

The guide eventually caught his eye and nodded. "Dreams are the beginning and end of the universe."

Furrowing his brow, he waited for more.

"We have been dreamed into existence." A hand waved into the air and with it a swirl of smoke followed. "If you hold onto your dreams, and believe in them, they may come true."

For a moment he wondered if they were still talking about T'Pol and her recovery, or whether referred to his feelings.

El'ani stood carefully and walked to him.

"Will you run tomorrow?" she asked. The way she said it made it seem like she didn't understand it was a form of exercise.

He shrugged. "Probably."

"You always seem in a hurry."

"It's exercise."

Smiling, she said the words again. "You always seem in a hurry."

Taking the information in stride, he decided to walk home, taking the circuitous route. He needed to think about her words, and more importantly, he needed to purge whatever thoughts lay in his mind for T'Pol. The way he showed his care for her was through friendship, he reminded himself. Friendship.

* * *

At dinner on the sixth evening of their stay, Jonathan – as he normally would – prepared their meal and brought it to the table for her. It was a pasta dish and he'd spent a little more time preparing it – even using a recipe – than he wanted to admit. But, he decided, it was their last night together on this planet; their meal tonight should be memorable.

T'Pol twirled her fork in her hand and tucked into it with appreciation. The two hadn't spoken since Dr. Phlox's visit, and the captain if anything was always eager to hear her condition.

"Dr. Phlox thinks I'm making progress," she said.

He smiled genuinely. "Good."

"I appreciate all the time you've given me to myself."

"I can be a good house guest." At her almost unperceivable frown – the towels he left laying around the place after his beach trips - he revised his statement. "I can be a good house guest _most of the time._"

"I've asked Dr. Phlox to only come once a week."

He paused, dangling his fork in midair. They were scheduled to leave tomorrow.

"I was … I was hoping you would stay," she said.

"Why?" he asked. During her five-day recuperation, she'd needed very little from him.

"Your presence is companionable."

"We haven't really spent that much time together."

"I don't feel you are an intrusion. And when we are together, your presence is welcome."

Before he could answer, she spoke again.

"I have an additional request," she said.

He waited.

"I'd like you to meditate with me. I need your help unlocking certain memories."

"How?"

"Meditation. Just sitting with you will help me recall events. And yet, having you near will remind me that I'm safe. Can you do this?"

He didn't answer.

"I'd like to start something that's more intensive – nightly meditation."

"I don't think--"

"I've come so far. Reviewing the last set of memories will help me understand."

"I don't think you should push it."

"I will be careful."

"I don't know."

"Please."

That was really all she needed to do, ask him with a vulnerable voice and with wide brown eyes. Actually, it was all she ever needed to do. Reaching a single hand to cup his shoulder, he found himself agreeing before he was ready. The woman nodded and then turned back to her dinner.

"We can begin tomorrow, if that is amenable."

Swallowing deeply, he nodded.

"Good."

"Our guide asked about you today."

"She did?"

"They have a god who they believe has dreamed everyone into existence." He produced a tiny smile. "She's been praying for you to this god."

"Do humans pray?" she asked.

"Some," he said. Suddenly, he felt confusion cross his features. "Vulcans?"

"When we are desperate."

Her delivery felt ominous and painful, as if she herself had prayed and begged during the worst of her tortures. Before he could comment or provide any comfort, she excused herself by placing her napkin onto the table.

"Thank you for dinner."

With that, she wheeled into her room and shut the door.


	14. Chapter 14

_Archer watched her sit on the edge of his bed and tuck a strand of hair behind a mangled ear – as if she wasn't self conscious about the scarring as much any more, at least in front of him. Her blue pajamas cut off at the midriff, exposing her stomach, but he didn't have trouble keeping his eyes on hers even at the sleepy hour she'd awakened him. _

_He asked her a question that could very well change their relationship forever, only because he couldn't stop it from falling out of his mouth. It was intended to be only a thought, but when he heard his voice mimic that notion, he went numb._

"_Am I wasting my time, with you, or is there any chance you could feel the same way?" _

_That hadn't been the inquiry he'd wanted to make at all and for a moment he panicked wondering if he should further explain himself. His lack of patience, which is what he'd chalked it up to, got the better of him. Something in him wanted to know _now_ finally … finally after all this time._

_She began to breathe more deeply and her gaze fell away from his. _

_For a moment – for this first time since being a young adult – the rumbling in his chest stopped and time stood still. Everything could be lost in a single second with a one word. _Everything _could be lost if he waited for her to respond. He couldn't allow that to happen, not after all this time. _

_Timidly, he placed his thumb and the crook of his index finger at her chin and brought her lips to his. When their lips touched he felt electricity, a connection. And as his eyes opened he felt giddy that her lips sought his out in return. Somehow he knew she wouldn't turn him away once their mouths and tongues mingled; he at last understood the feelings that had fermented deep inside of him all these years were returned. All of them. And they had been for some time. _

_As the two eventually slid down to the bed, caressing each other with their mouths, tongues and hands, drunk with love, he felt elation._

Elation.

Blinking slowly, he caught his breath and steadied his pulse as he remembered the dream. It wasn't just the thrill of kissing T'Pol, there was much more to his vision, now that he was focusing on it – wild images, some of it was in the third person, but the colors were vivid. Everything felt so real.

During some part, and on further reflection he wasn't certain now that he was awake, he'd envisioned his father was alive and met T'Pol. The two chatted, as if they'd known each other for some time, about starships and warp drives. His mother, somehow joined the conversation even if she looked a little out of place – in her overalls with dirt smeared on her cheek. He wasn't sure if he was there or not, and if he was he couldn't be certain if he was a grown man or a child. Whatever he was, if he was even there, his mom cooed over her, fixing meals and poking fun of her son. And his father had looked upon her with admiration, as if tickled by her – her grace, eloquence, curiosity and beauty.

As he sat up, pondering his night vision, it began to fade until the only sensation he could remember was having T'Pol pressed against him. He could only recall the touching of their lips – tender and full of promise.

Running his fingers through his hair, he blew out a long, steady breath.

Closing his eyes to purge the memory, he heard her scuffle below – pots and pans clanged together. Flashing his eyes open, he realized how late he'd slept. It was already 1013, _well _past the time he typically arose.

That was enough to shake him from his bemusement, chasing away any glow he felt from his dreams.

_Some nurse I am!_

Scrambling, he stumbled to put on a shirt and pants, hastily throwing them on and headed quickly downstairs. His pants were zipped, but his shirt whipped precariously behind him as his fingers fumbled to button it. As soon as he reached the bottom, he blew out a sigh.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he said.

The confusion in her eyes made him pause and stop buttoning the shirt that still almost draped off of him.

"Why? You're on vacation," she said.

"I usually cook breakfast."

"You said yourself I could perform the task."

Stupefied, all he could do was watch her, mouth agape. As she wheeled around, she pointed half-way up his chest.

"You've buttoned your shirt incorrectly," she said.

Looking down, he frowned and re-buttoned it. "Did you try to wake me?"

"Why would I?" she asked. "I could hear you snoring, I knew you were still asleep."

"You could hear me snoring?" he asked, apologetic.

"I can most nights."

Wincing, he fell into a seat at the table. "Do I keep you up?"

"No."

"You should tell me if it bothers you."

Looking back over her shoulder only for a moment, she gave the smallest of shrugs – and looking almost human doing so. "It hasn't troubled me. There's a certain comfort to it."

After pausing for a few minutes, she spoke again. "It'll take a few minutes. You can shower in the meantime … if you wish."

Nodding, he headed up the stairs. As he prepared for a shower, he reminded himself that the silly notion of remembering a kiss in a dream was just that: childish. He'd had dreams about her before, most of them focused on finding an enemy that didn't exist or taking some kind of adventure. Lately, he'd had dreams about Salanacon, that he couldn't retrieve T'Pol from the planet and somehow – through whatever set of circumstances existed in that night world – he'd had to leave her, kicking and screaming as his officers dragged him away. Worse, some of his nightmares involved knowing she was being tortured and being completely unable to stop it. One even involved him having to watch her as she screamed and fought against her captors. He'd awakened in a cold sweat from that one, his body shaking.

This vision was at least pleasant. He'd had so few of those lately.

Putting all thoughts out of his head, he let the water run over him easing away worries, problems and strife. Priming his brain to focus on trivial matters, he found himself wondering what happened next to the characters in his book or whether he'd run today.

Drying off, stepping into some fresh clothes, he headed back downstairs, singing quietly to himself, and stopped half-way down shocked at what he spied. He had a clear view of the kitchen and saw the Vulcan wheel around with agility and poise; he knew right away the only thing binding her to her wheelchair was trepidation. Her feet even helped her scoot along the floor to carry her to a destination more quickly.

His crept cautiously to her, but his ankles must've popped - or perhaps her Vulcan hearing noted him cross the room - because she immediately spoke.

"You're staring," she said.

He sighed. "T'Pol, I … it doesn't seem like you need that contraption."

Immediately she halted her actions. Like a toddler giving up a security blanket, she shook her head vigorously.

"I'm not ready," she said.

Suddenly, he got in his mind to convince her. "You are."

"No."

He stepped closer to you. "You are. I saw your feet help carry you across the floor."

"It's not the same as standing," she said.

Finding the voice he used when he wielded orders, the one she was bound to obey, he spoke a little more firmly. "You've asked a lot of me. I'm just asking this _one _thing."

An eyebrow poked up, a curious one, which he always took as a good sign.

"Come on, T'Pol," he said.

Ignoring him, she placed a spoon in the pot and stirred it. But, he wasn't about to give up. He closed the final distance and stood at her side, his eyes locked on her.

"I'll be right here. I won't let you fall."

She didn't answer.

"Please," he said, more softly.

He sheepishly ducked down, a gesture he hoped looked desperate enough – like Porthos waiting for a piece of cheese. Her response was to hang her head against her chest in defeat and he smiled knowing it was her undoing. Clutching her hands firmly around the arms of her chair, she pushed her body up in one fail swoop – her arms shaking at the strain. Reflex made her straighten her spine and she let go for a second, almost without intention, while her mouth fell ajar as if she hadn't expected to stand. The moment she realized she wasn't going to fall, that she could actually stand upright, her face gave way to awe. It brought a twinkle to her eye and was reflected by the man who was stationed and ready in case she wobbled.

"I'm standing," she said, her voice quivering only slightly.

A wild grin spread across his face. "Yes, you are."

"I didn't think I could."

His grin widened.

Marveling at her own feet and ankles, she stared down with something nearing delight.

"Take a step toward me," he said.

"What?" she asked. As soon as the question formed on her lips, she felt her balance falter and she fell into his arms. At once, he eased her back into her seat, feeling her heart pound with what he guessed was courage (at standing) and fright (at walking).

"You know what the first rule of climbing is," he said.

She shifted in her seat, as if even the moment supporting her own weight had hurt her once broken legs and ankles.

"No."

"Never look down."

Knitting her brows together, she shook her head.

He said, "It means once you realize your own mortality, chances are pretty good you'll become nervous and screw up."

Before she could respond, he leaned in a little closer. "You did great. Maybe from today on, we can keep trying."

"Keep trying?"

"Yeah. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

She nodded.

"If you wanted to start swimming, it might help," he said.

The woman's lips flattened. "Swimming?"

"On Earth, physical trainers use it as a way to work muscles without the strain of gravity." When she didn't respond, he spoke again. "When I was a freshman in high school, I played football. After a knee injury and corrective surgery, I began swimming to retrain it. Though … I never wanted to return to football. Swimming kinda sucked me in."

She didn't respond.

"You could come with me today, if you like," he said. "It'd be great. We could sit back under the sun and read and --"

"I'll consider it."

He could tell from the tone in her voice she didn't mean it. As he was about to inquire further, she wheeled herself over to the stove and kept busy.

"If you're worried about me touching you--" he said.

She didn't respond, but he could tell that wasn't the problem.

"T'Pol?" he asked.

"What?" she said.

The moment between them was gone, almost like the dream he had earlier that morning. Instead of feeling the warmth of his friend, he felt her retreat and wither. Something he said must've triggered it, but he'd be damned if he knew exactly what it was.

"Our meal is ready," she said.

He gave a slight frown. "Need help carrying it to the table?"

"I believe I'd like to eat mine on the back porch."

Disappointed, he watched her serve herself and wheel away, shutting the bedroom door behind her. He sighed.

------

T'Pol spent the remainder of her day alone, staring out into the backyard. She heard, at one point, Archer gather his things together and leave as he did every day for the beach. For a moment, she thought about changing her mind and agreeing to go with him. But, two things kept her from volunteering to accompany him, besides her sheer stubbornness: the thought of dressing in a bathing suit, exposing skin that had been bruised and scarred and the fear that the effort would actually help.

The second objection was in direct conflict with the desire to walk again soon. It was perplexing to have both contradictory feelings. She didn't want to stay an invalid, dependent on others to carry or wheel her around, but something bothered her about standing on her own limbs. Most likely it was that the process of placing one foot in front of another would be painful and slow.

Setting aside those thoughts, she let the sunshine spread across her face.

After the week, she'd come to remember many things. Not everything came to light, but there was one period of time on Salanacon when she blacked out. The events around those had been especially disturbing. Before she meditated with Archer tonight, she wanted to jolt her own memory to see if there was more she could uncover.

Closing her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her skin, she tried to relax as she let the images of the cave and Ral come to her. She could see a purple figure leaned over her with a malicious smile.

"_You blacked out," he said._

_Shaking, she realized her stomach felt weak as if on the verge of nausea. The smell that covered her and the feeling that crept around her insides caused her to become sick suddenly. _

_He continued to speak, as if boasting or bragging about her as a conquest … as if she was only now paying for the violence done to his people. What brought her back to him was a comment he made, a snarl dangling on his lips._

"_I saw a tear trickle out of your eye, Vulcan. Very satisfying."_

T'Pol shook herself and focused on that incident, trying to detach herself, as she had when reviewing almost every other event including when her ears where cut away from her.

Ral's red eyes had watched her as he'd begun to disrobe, noting her disgust or fear. Her eyes had slipped shut to meditate and chant ancient words that Surak had long ago whispered.

_He drew closer still, caressing her cheek._

"_Please don't," she whispered._

_Strands of her hair brushed through his fingertips and fell limply around her head. His mouth found her ear and he nibbled on it as if he were a lover._

"_If you keep your eyes on me, I won't let the others harm you," he whispered._

_She shivered. _

"_All you have to do is keep your eyes on me."_

"_No," she said._

"_You people think you're so much better than we are. You've been telling us what to do for centuries. And the one time we ask for your help, you aren't there for us."_

_She shook her head and tried to form the ancient words in her mind. _

"_We asked for help, you didn't give it to us. We asked for technology, you didn't give it to us. And when constructed something to save our planet, your people demanded we stop."_

_She spoke, her voice shivering. "What you'd created would kill many innocent--"_

"_Innocent people like my father? He died because of you and your … _people_."_

_When her eyes opened to stare at him, she saw her captain wielding the same angry glare he had when he'd threatened her in Starfleet Medical. Instead of coolly retracting from his emotional outburst, she heard herself gasp._

"No," she said aloud. Her eyes flung open and her breath caught in her throat.

Every time she thought about this particular event, she thought about Archer as if the two were connected.

She'd weighed the similarities between Ral and Captain Archer before. There were many, as ludicrous as the notion seemed on the surface.

Ral's family had been torn apart – his father murdered - because the Vulcans refused to act. The hatred in the young Salan, as he watched his father tumble to the ground during the Rodaran attack must've been seething for years, waiting for an opportunity to manifest itself.

Jonathan Archer's father, she'd learned, died of a genetic disease completely unrelated to any foreign attack. But, Henry Archer never had the chance to see his engine work and fly, or his son follow in his footsteps. Apparently, according to the records she'd seen from Soval, Henry had been close for years, but the Vulcans had placed more "red tape" around the effort, making it nearly impossible – no matter his engineering skill – for him to accomplish the feat.

Henry's son must've known that; it's what sparked his disgust at the Vulcan High Command, possibly to Soval in particular. Although the Vulcans saw they were holding back the technology until it was completely safe, and a single human life wouldn't be lost; T'Pol could understand the other side of the equation. Humans gave their lives for adventure constantly. The will to achieve was part of what made them the species they were. The history of space flight itself, Russian and American, had been fraught with disasters, but humans willingly risked their lives in the endeavor. Earthlings even remembered the names of those astronauts, scientists and ships that had perished in the flight, but more than that, they recalled and reveled in the dream. Archer and his fellow humans envisioned a limitless existence where they could travel amongst the stars and join the exploration.

It was a misunderstanding that kept the Vulcans from allowing them to continue down that path. Vulcans valued logic above all other things, and reason led them to believe life was more important. Meddling, even to ensure lives were saved, was seen by humans as preventing them from achieving their destiny.

Strangely, T'Pol understood that Archer was aware of how the Vulcans felt on the matter. To some degree, he was justified in being angry that the Vulcans weren't willing to comprehend how the Earthlings must feel.

T'Pol sighed and stared at the backyard, the trees were swaying gently in the breeze.

There were other similarities between Ral and Archer.

Ral was a leader among his people. Although he'd never divulged his status or position, she gathered he had weight with the community. The way he carried himself – despite being short in stature, he stood tall and upright - and the way he spoke – a loud, rumbling voice that commanded those around him – reminded her of the captain. His eyes, red and beady though they were, demanded respect from those around him and they were steeled as if wearing the mantle of authority.

Salans followed Ral blindly, no matter what he told them; they would do his bidding as if their lives depended on that order. And when they spoke to him, he considered their opinions silently as if he had final say.

Archer, as captain of the Enterprise, demanded and earned respect. The way he marched down the corridors of the ship, his broad shoulders and chin poised as if no man would question him, demonstrated assurance. Trip used to tease that he walked as if he _owned _the ship, as if it were in his personal name.

The captain's eyes held intensity and sometimes just with a glance, he could make men crumble. During occasional disagreements between Archer and Reed, she watched the Brit – a man who wouldn't cave easily - tremble sometimes at a single look from his commander.

Disrupting the analysis, a memory flittered across her brain, and like an annoying fly, she swatted it away. It unsettled her. It was too unnerving to review by herself. Something about this particular feeling compelled her to hold this recollection at bay.

_There will be time to reveal what's troubling me later. I need to prepare first._

As she heard Archer enter the front door, she wheeled out to meet him. His hair was still damp and his body held beads of water.

"Your swim was longer today."

"I tried a sport they call Go-aloo; it's kinda like surfing, but on a much smaller board, and for some reason the object is to get knocked off by large waves. I didn't have much trouble at that."

He grinned as she furrowed her brows. Humans, no matter how much time she spent on Enterprise, never ceased to amaze her with pursuit and amusement at trivial matters.

"I'd like you to come by my room tonight at 1900 hours," she said.

"After dinner?" he asked.

She could understand his puzzlement, dinner was typically served at 1900.

"I will not be taking dinner. The process we will go through tonight will be easier without it."

As he was about to pepper with her questions, she rolled away to save her energy for the hours of meditation it would take to be ready for tonight.

------

T'Pol, after spending hours on her bed, finally dragged herself from it to light candles and prepare for Archer's arrival. Waiting for him to arrive, stretched out over the floor – her legs tucked neatly to the side – her robe fanned out mostly covering her. A small scar along her calf almost caused a frown to form on her face. Rather than give in, she leaned over and covered it, keeping it from her own gaze.

_I cannot be afraid of what is uncovered_, she reminded herself. _This is an exploration._

A quiet knock on the door, brought her back into the moment and she called him in.

"Enter."

Nervously stepping in, he gave a half-smile and then for some unknown reason shut the door behind him. Giving a light cough and then stepping from one foot to the other, he finally asked for instruction.

"Do you want me to sit?"

"Yes," she said.

Crouching, he clumsily let his body crumple to the ground. After switching positions a few times, she intervened.

"You should be comfortable."

Nodding, he gave one last shift until he was sitting Indian style across from her and when she knew he was settled her eyes slipped closed.

"What do I do next?" he asked.

"Think about Salanacon and be here for me if I need you."

"Of course."

It was times like this she thought of the candle – the glistening flame dancing in the air when sparked to life and then remaining still, despite its glow.

Taking deep breaths, she relaxed into her thoughts and let the events come back to her slowly, even the painful memories she'd shooed away earlier.

She imagined herself to be in the cave, where it was dark and dank. Envisioning the water dripping slowly from the walls, falling in pools of condensation, she heard them echo with a "ka-plop." A faint whisper, men who hid themselves behind others, could barely be heard. And finally above all the sounds, there was Ral's voice. The Salan language mimicked something like Spanish or French, it had a certain softness to it with few guttural words. His particular voice was low and although he spoke in Vulcan, his accent cut through with the seduction of his planet's tongue.

And then she saw. The barely flickering torches that lit the cave and cast shadows onto nearly everything, giving them a more gloomy and mysterious quality. The men behind, all of varying heights and sizes, appeared as waves of gray. There were a few henchmen, those who commanded more respect, every once in a while she saw one of them poke through the crowds to speak with Ral.

Ral.

She saw him - his dark purple skin and red beady eyes. His smile was crooked, mostly around his lips, though his teeth were straight and polished. For a Salan, she was certain some would consider him handsome although she found him displeasing to the eye.

Perhaps it was the odor. The smell of decay and death lingered around her nostrils as if that was his breath. When he whispered into her face, she took in the sour stench and tried to nonchalantly turn her nose without showing her disapproval.

_Ral drew close, caressing her cheek, sliding his long purple fingers along her face. The look on his face was lusty and the crooked grew larger._

"_Please don't," she whispered. His touch, and what it might mean, terrified her much more than him breaking her limbs._

_Strands of her hair brushed through his fingertips and fell limply around her head. His mouth found her ear and he nibbled on it as if he were a lover – his tongue slid along the slope of it and his teeth gingerly caught her earlobe._

"_If you keep your eyes on me, I won't let the others harm you," he whispered into her ear. _

_She shivered. _

"_All you have to do is keep your eyes on me."_

"_No," she said. Ancient words hummed in her mind._

_Removing some of his clothing, which caused the shadows behind him to hoot with laughter and approval, he stalked closer to her._

"_You don't like the way I look?" he asked._

_She didn't comment._

"_Of course. Your kind is only attracted to their own."_

_Intent on keeping silent about her preferences, which had gone outside her own race – like the feelings she once had for Trip - she bit her lip._

"_Your people think you're so much better than we are."_

"_No," she whispered._

"_You've been telling us what to do for centuries."_

_His lips fell along her throat and she felt a sharp prick in her arm. The swimming in her head lead her to believe it was either a muscle relaxant or a depressant to calm her. _

"_The one time we ask for your help, you aren't there for us," he said._

_She shook her head. The sound – the water dripping off the walls – became louder and she strained to hear what Ral had to say._

"_We asked for help, you didn't give it to us. We asked for technology, you didn't give it to us. And when we constructed something, your people demanded we stop."_

_She spoke, her voice shivering as cold suddenly gripped her body. "Many lives would be lost--" _

"_And so you let us suffer," he said. "Innocent people like my father."_

"_There were other choices," she whispered, slurring a little. "There are now. If you release me--" _

"_You don't get to decide, Vulcan. This is not your galaxy! You do not rule us all!"_

"_Please, Ral, listen to reason. Right now, you're volatile." The words slipped from her mouth, but her tongue had trouble forming the words._

"_Volatile! You have no idea how much I'm restraining myself from knocking you on your ass right now."_

_Suddenly, T'Pol's eyes drooped. Through a foggy haze of delusion, she saw her captain above her kissing angrily at her lips and begin freeing her shoulders of her clothes. As her eyes fluttered back into her head, she heard herself say a few words._

"_Captain?"_

_His tongue flicked out at her mouth as she struggled below him for a moment._

"_Vulcans never understand that it is our anger that makes us who we are. It helps us carry on, even after we've lost everything else that's important."_

"_I know there are other emotions you carry. I've seen them."_

_The image softened and she imagined her leaning above her smiling, instead of angry, as he'd been before. The two were fully clothed – he in a gray shirt and sweat pants – and she wearing her pajamas. It was late at night, and she was sitting on her bed with the light faintly glowing behind her._

"_Oh?" he asked, crouching down. _

"_Yes. I've seen compassion."_

"_Is that all?" he teased. _

_The whole feeling of everything between them felt like conversations they had when they'd just started to become friends. And for an instant, T'Pol recognized this was an illusion. Just as the pain of reality threatened to settle in, Archer took her hand. _

"_Hey, keep talking to me," he said._

"_I'm unsure what to say."_

"_To be fair, I think you're the one who called me here."_

"_Yes," she whispered. She stroked his cheek, tenderly. "May I call you by your first name?" she asked._

"_I wish you would."_

"_Jonathan," she said, marveling at how alien the word sounded. "I think you know why you're here."_

"_I suppose I do," he said sadly._

"_I need your help." _

"_I know. We're trying."_

"_I'm frightened. Vulcans … Vulcans don't feel afraid." A tear worked itself to her eye and then fell down her cheek. He caught it on his finger and examined it._

"_T'Pol," he whispered. "It's okay. It's normal to be scared." _

_She bit her lip. For a moment, she felt drawn back to the woman who was in a cave - as if the creature torturing her had also reached for her tear. Just as her vision started to fade, Archer friend reached for her hand._

"_Keep your eyes on me. I won't leave you." _

The Vulcan slowly opened her eyes and the flood of memories came back to her. Although everything didn't come to light, she knew she could explore some of it without falling apart. It certainly would be something she'd investigate for the next few weeks.

"T'Pol?"

She noticed her captain across from her staring on in worry. Leaning forward, he caught her arm cautiously.

"We've been here for hours. I was about ready to--"

She didn't comment.

"You don't look well, maybe I should contact Phlox?"

"No," she said. Her eyes traveled to his hand still wrapped around her arm, which at her gaze fell away.

"What can I do?"

"Would you help me to the bathroom?" she asked. The lunging in her stomach wouldn't permit her to ease into her chair and then casually wheel to the room.

Slipping his arms around her, he carried her there and she asked him to sit her in front of sink where at least she could lean against the porcelain. As if understanding her dilemma, he turned on the faucet and gratefully, she placed her hands under the water and splashed her face. Her tummy settled and with long, slow breaths she regained a little of the calm she had before.

"You all right?" he asked.

"They gave me a drug … something that made me believe … that _you _were my attacker … at least at first."

Splashing cold water on her face again, she shivered at the notion. The Salans had _meant_ to deal her a psychological blow. Odd that she conjured his face as a beacon to ignore the events around her. It hadn't been Surak's ancient words inscribed in the Kir'Shara that helped her; it was the captain.

Seeing him and associating him, loosely, with the trauma on Salanacon certainly made it understandable why she had issues with him – why she would shy from his touch or smell the cave for moments at a time when he passed by – even if his presence assisted her.

Glancing up in the mirror, she saw her captain had gone ash-colored and his eyes were becoming a little watery, without the tears managing to spill over.

"Captain?" she whispered.

"I don't …." he said, hoarsely. He shook his head as if unable to speak.

"Obviously, it wasn't you."

He nodded, although the horror on his face hadn't subsided. Without thinking, she reached out to grab his hand.

"Seeing you … it assisted me."

He furrowed his brow.

"Your friendship. I clung to it even in my darkest hours like a tether that binds a boat to land. It helped me think about other things than what happened there. You helped me."

He was still stupefied, and she wasn't sure she could blame him; she was struck a little speechless, too.

"Could you help me to my bed?" she asked.

Swinging her in his arms, he took her to where she asked and she settled back. Feeling a little exhausted, she realized tonight was a breakthrough and she also realized it would be nice to have Archer there meditating with her every night, if it wasn't too much to ask.

"Will you come again tomorrow?"

He didn't answer, but tried to search for the words and T'Pol realized the fact he was her attacker at one point was unnerving him a little.

"May I call you by your first name?" she asked. It was an odd request, one she'd never made before and something she could only remembering doing once before.

He looked and nodded to her.

"Jonathan, on Salanacon, you saved me more than once. And seeing into the past … it makes me realize the only association between you and what happened is that I conjured up your image to help me because I was … because I was frightened."

Relief spread over his face, but he still seemed a little confused. There was probably a lot to clear up, but she could do that another night.

"You are my closest friend," she whispered.

"You mean a lot to me, too," he said. A faint smile drifted onto his face.

"I think there is much more to discuss, but perhaps we can save that for another night?"

He nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "I have been saying that frequently these days."

"That's what captains are for."

As he started to turn around and leave, she thought about correcting him. Although she understood that Vulcan and humans captains were dissimilar, she didn't believe for one moment other Starfleet captains would've volunteered so much of their time to one particular crewmen. Instead of bringing it to his attention, she silently thought that perhaps she'd have the honor of helping the captain one day. In fact, she'd make a point of it.

TBC

-----

A/N: Nope, not a psychology major, but thank you! (I think.) Neil Gaiman, a fabulous science fiction/fantasy/horror author, has wrote a little ditty to his friends now known as "The Writer's Prayer." There are many points, but my favorite is him asking to be able to tell the truth in a way that's meaningful and powerful, and yet with the truth in mind tell lies.

I did some research via the web about fear and recovery and some of the signs. I'm glad it comes across through T'Pol's actions.

Telaka, considering this was your story, you should take more credit! (Thank you.)

Rose, how many fics am I writing at once? I'm not sure I know either. "Price on His Head" and "Picking Up the Pieces" I believe are the only two I have other than this one, and this one is nearly wrapped up. There's "Some Rules," which begs an ending, but …. It's raining more here, I may get to it.

All, I have one more tough chapter ahead (next one) and then the "falling action." So, I lied, we'll have two more chapters. (Sorry, Goshabyn!) The next one will likely be this length.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Thanks, all, for the wonderful reviews.

------

A week went by.

Although it was difficult, Archer's skin stopped crawling at the notion that T'Pol recalled him as her attacker on Salanacon. He accepted the information only because she, on a daily basis, reminded him it wasn't his fault and told him in detail about her hallucination until he realized he wasn't the assailant at all.

Everyday, he ran and swum, just as he had been. He also took a few hikes, enjoying the rugged terrain of the sweeping cliffs that overlooked the limitless ocean as well as one particular challenging course that took him behind an enormous waterfall. At that ridge, cliff divers waited and then plunged into the towering depths to eventually collide with the water. Almost every time, Archer thought about throwing his body into the inviting pool below, but reminded himself these people had been doing this their entire life; this would be his first time. The temptation of adventure intrigued him, but he eventually came a logical conclusion – not to do it; he was curious, but not foolhardy.

On these expeditions, he saw amazing wildlife – more brilliant than those of South America's rainforests. Birds of electric colors, mostly blues, purples and yellows, swooped from tree to tree. Tiny animals that reminded the captain of monkeys with long fuzzy tails would pounce from limb to limb. And along the trail he occasionally saw slithering creatures – like a cross between a centipede and a reptile – that would coil, slide and then carry itself on what seemed like hundreds of tiny legs.

And when he got to clearings he would stare at the sky and let the sunshine tan his skin. Sometimes, if he was hot enough, he would remove his shirt and let the beams touch his back, shoulders and chest and marvel at the freckles that formed there.

Not only was he having a marvelous time exploring, his first officer was markedly progressing. Standing for longer periods of time, she managed to take a few steps.

There also seemed to be a light, a twinkle, coming back to her eyes as if a spark that had almost extinguished re-ignited her very soul.

But, she wasn't completely healed – at least mentally. The only thing that kept he from progressing further, the one issue left, was something Archer wasn't even aware that Vulcans needed just as much as humans: self-esteem.

Cues came in all forms. The clothes she wore weren't her uniform, the one that clung to her body proudly displaying every curve; she covered herself in robed that hung on her form like a tent. Material covered her arms and legs, showing only her head and portions of her neck. Her hair was combed forward as if to mask or hide her ears.

It wasn't just that.

She dodged her reflection in the kitchen's glass hutch and evaded windows as she passed by. Worse, sometimes when she caught her image – as if by accident – she produced a ghost of a frown and as a reflex touched her ears.

A far cry from the confidence she exuded on the bridge, T'Pol was afraid to go outside, beyond their house, and enjoy the sunshine that her home planet gave an abundance of. Although Archer couldn't tell for sure, he gathered it was because she didn't want to be seen – even dressed as thoroughly as she was. Coaxing and cajoling her out didn't seem to work. She always made the excuse of meditation or indicated she wasn't feeling well enough to be taken beyond the confines of the house. He'd push and even try to use the voice that gave orders, the one that held command, but she wouldn't budge.

It was clear – his friend lost her own self-worth as a woman.

Not being a woman, it was harder to understand or grasp. He'd comforted his mother, after his father died and before she remarried, about her own looks. He'd also expressed to girlfriends long past that they had been lovely to reassure them when they were most vulnerable.

What to do about T'Pol was a bit of a quandary. He was neither son, nor boyfriend.

If he were any normal man, instead of her captain, he would grab her by the shoulders and whisper how beautiful she was. He might brush the hair from her forehead under a full moon and kiss her softly, expressing how much she meant to him. If he were any other man, he'd work to build her self-confidence through affection and words.

But, none of that was really possible. It hurt him to see her so forlorn – though she would never admit it - over nothing. And it bothered him that he hadn't worked out the right approach to take … one that wouldn't embarrass either of them. The more he struggled, mulling it over, the more he realized there was bound to be some discomfiture with any method he took. The topic was sensitive, even for a human, but it had to be addressed.

The opportunity finally presented itself.

One day, after making lunch, he called her in to the kitchen. When she didn't answer and he saw her bedroom door opened, he ventured inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a figure in the bathroom brushing her hair and walked through the open door, silently. On closer inspection, he saw T'Pol staring at her image with a frown. The tip of her left ear, one that was usually covered with sable hair, peered out as the source of her dismay. Unaware of Archer's presence, she let her fingers grope the gnarled skin and sighed. As she was about to turn away from her reflection, Archer held her shoulders and faced her back to toward the mirror.

"There's nothing wrong with the woman I see," he said.

"What?" Her eyes fell away from her own image.

"There's nothing wrong," he said.

She didn't answer.

"Look in the mirror," he ordered. And like a dutiful officer, she met her own gaze.

"My ears," she whispered.

"What about them?"

"They're misshapen."

He was about to say something, when she cut him off.

"A female Vulcan's most visually pleasing attribute is her ears," she said.

He furrowed his brow. "Your ears have character. Actually, they always have, now they just have a little more."

"My father used to comment that if it weren't for my ears, no one would know what species I was."

"I don't think that's true," he whispered.

A tiny voice spoke to him. "I don't know who I am."

"You're T'Pol."

"_She _was Vulcan."

"So are you."

"No," she said.

"Of course you are."

"A Vulcan displays only logic. A Vulcan has tips on her ears."

"I think there's more to being Vulcan than having perfect ears. And despite what your father thinks, you embody many of the characteristics of your race including logic."

She seemed entirely nonplussed as if Archer didn't understand the problem at all. Giving the briefest of sighs, she looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"I don't see a Vulcan at all. I look in the mirror and all I see are scars."

T'Pol wasn't a vain woman. One might even say she was the exact opposite. Archer'd always believed her beauty came from being mostly unaware of how attractive she was. She didn't smear makeup over her skin, in fact she barely wore any. And the clingy outfit she donned as a uniform she wore mostly because she didn't understand its impact to the men onboard. The unassuming air and ignorance to her own appearance made her more desirable, at least to him. There was an inner beauty and grace that sparkled. He'd always admired it – the way she carried herself, her intelligence, the glow of curiosity and the open-mindedness.

He said, "I don't see any scars."

Turning to meet his eyes, she disagreed. "I have many."

"I'm looking," he said, as his eyes darted around her neck and face. "I don't see any."

"My ears for one."

"It's not noticeable."

She quipped an eyebrow at him as if he were blind.

He peered a little closer. "I wouldn't notice them unless I was standing right next to you, and they're … they have character."

Straining her neck, she commanded that he look by pointing to him seemed like a tiny, ghost-like dot. "Here."

Squinting, he said, "Kinda looks like a freckle."

Pushing up a sleeve, she showed her arm. Her skin was still lightly bruised and there were what appeared to be a miniscule scratches along it, but nothing that seemed like the disfigurement she saw.

"T'Pol--" he said, shaking his head.

Rolling up her other sleeve, she showed him more. Some were more prominent than others, but he saw nothing that marred her.

"I have them all over," she whispered. "I don't want to see them anymore."

"It just takes a little time to heal. Doc said you'd be--"

"I don't want anyone else to see them either."

He frowned. As she hung her head, Archer decided to say a few words, confronting the truth.

"You're concerned about your appearance?" he asked.

She had no answer. Instead, she turned toward the sink again, leaning against it to hold her up.

"If you are," he said, "I don't think you have anything to worry about."

She caught his image in the mirror.

"I think the men aboard Enterprise …. I've noticed they appreciate you."

She didn't say anything almost as if she didn't believe him. So, he looked her squarely in the mirror.

"I can say as a man, I don't notice the miniscule scratches that you believe somehow mar your beauty."

Slowly, she faced him.

He said, "And you must think very little of men to only be interested in long, pointed ears."

"Vulcan men find those features, in particular, quite attractive."

"Do you want a Vulcan man?" he asked.

She blinked and he realized the conversation was getting a bit personal. Just as he was about to back off, she replied.

"I haven't given that much thought lately."

"My mom used to tell me when I was a teenager that the right girl would find me handsome one day. She said 'Those girls will be the lucky ones.'"

She seemed a little startled at his statement. "You've had self-confidence issues?"

"I can't think of a human that hasn't."

"Captain …," she began. "Vulcans don't typically--"

He sighed that he was still a rank, rather than a person. "Don't tell me about what Vulcans do and don't typically believe. You have emotions just like me even if you're more skilled at hiding them. I think everyone wants to feel … cared for. Everyone wants to be desired. There's nothing wrong with that."

Silence broke out for a few moments, and then T'Pol responded.

"My father believes there's … as you say … something wrong with that."

"I disagree. Although, I suppose it's not the first time I've disagreed with him."

Her lips gave the smallest tremble, and he decided to continue.

"I know you're not exactly the most austere of Vulcans. And yet you manage to be logical and thoughtful. I like that. I think that's why you get along with people so well on Enterprise. It's why you have so many friends who care about you."

She didn't answer him.

"Do you know when you were laid up in Sickbay that I had to turn visitors away. Everyone … more than 80 crewmen … all came to check on you. Some came more than once a day – like Malcolm, Hoshi, Travis and Trip."

The little Vulcan bowed her head.

"T'Pol, if there's one thing you should know is that you're cared for and loved by everyone on Enterprise." After closing into her only slightly, he whispered to her bent form. "I think the man that finally captures your heart will be a very lucky one. You have a lot to offer any man … and your beauty if only one of them."

Her eyes caught his in the mirror and for a second he felt his heart pound inside his chest. Had he been any other man, he would've turned her form and press his lips to her ears – the ones she believed were mangled beyond desire.

But, he wasn't any man. So, he produced the smallest of smiles as if his grin could stroke her cheek.

She finally broke the elongated silence. Slowly she stared into his eyes, and delivered a few words as if they had a double meaning.

"I have been foolish," she said.

His mouth twitched, and he addressed her comment as if it was meant only as a realization. "I think what you're feeling is normal. Although there's nothing wrong with your appearance, self-doubt is hard to overcome. It'll just take time."

Her lips barely curled and he broke the connection of their eyes. Unexpectedly, he felt her fingers wrap around his hand and he looked at her with some confusion before she ended the contact.

"You said you prepared lunch?" she asked.

"Yea," he said, a little shaken.

Helping her into her wheelchair, located directly behind her, he eventually pushed her into the kitchen.

The two had lunch in mostly silence.

------

Another incident happened that week.

T'Pol had awakened earlier than her captain again. Rather than disturb him, she wheeled into the kitchen where she could hear the gentle rumble of his snore. It was still dark outside and the sun was only beginning to poke through the trees located behind the house. Taking out the remnants of his coffee beans, the ones he'd obsessed over when they'd first arrived, she began to prepare his favorite beverage. She'd watched enough times to know exactly what to do – how many scoops, the precise amount of water ….

As she waited, she rolled over to the table and looked at a small item laying there – the captain's wallet. A picture, the old fashioned kind, poked out as if the man had looked at the picture in haste and stuffed it back haphazardly. Giving a sharp eyebrow, she gently pulled it free.

Staring down she saw a picture of the two of them on the bridge, in front of his chair as if they were in charge of Enterprise somehow together. It was a photo Hoshi had taken less than a year ago – something to add to her photo album as well as a shot to be given to Starfleet and hung in a hallway. T'Pol hadn't realized anyone had copies of them, which meant he must've asked for one. As she ran her fingers along the paper, she marveled at it.

The look on Archer's face was confident. His eyes locked with the camera, blazing with a more greenish hue than she had seen before, and somehow despite the awkward pose he managed to look heroic. Next to him, nestled close to accommodate the picture, her own image stared into the lens as if inquisitive – both eyes wide and her lips pursed together. His body language, with his arm slightly behind her – attached to the chair – made his demeanor seem protective and stalwart. And though their bodies weren't touching and they didn't look at each other, the camera captured something that T'Pol was completely unaware of until now.

The two looked like a couple.

It wasn't the traditional human kind, two people desperately in love. Instead, it was a team – two people who were there for each other no matter the circumstance, no matter the time. The team of two were the kind to risk their lives for each other, on a regular basis … more often than could be remembered. And they had enough in common to get along, and enough differences to complement each other.

_A team. That is our relationship._

And yet …. There was the hint of something deeper. At least from him. She sometimes believed he had feelings for her, though she knew him well enough to know they would never come to light and he would never act on them. The waves that cascaded off of him from time to time, and that's exactly what they were – on and off - she likened to a crush, a human word for admiring something whimsically.

Thinking on his words yesterday, the ones that were something of a band-aid to her bruised psyche, she wondered if perhaps his feelings went deeper.

Less than a three months ago, when she and Trip were working together in Engineering, the blonde carefully brought up a painful subject – one that hadn't been discussed since their breakup.

"_I think you had a crush on me." Trip handled a spanner and then quickly looked out of the corner of his eye._

"_Crush?" she asked. _

"_A fancy. You know, you thought I was attractive."_

_She put down the relay she had in her hand and watched his face. "You're talking about our past relationship?"_

"_Yeah. I think I know why you ended it. You only had a crush on me."_

_Confused, she waited for more information._

"_I mean … you still believe I'm kinda cute," he said. The corners of his lips curled up playfully and she saw him barely glance at her, enjoying her bafflement. "But, your feelings back then … it was a crush."_

_She approached the conversation the wrong way. "Trip, if you believe I misused you–"_

"_Misused?" he said. A laugh blurted out of his mouth. "No."_

"_I don't understand."_

_He put down his tool and leaned in toward her. "You're a Vulcan. Feelings are kinda confusing to you I imagine. You've been hiding them for so long, you may think you feel one way, when you feel actually something else."_

_That certainly didn't clear up anything for her, and her brow knitted._

"_When I was 14, I had a crush on my English teacher – Mrs. Hurley. She had long red hair and big blue eyes. And when she read to the class, she just transported me to another world."_

_T'Pol blinked. "You had a … crush … on her?"_

"_Yea. Nothing was meant to happen. She had a husband a daughter around 3-years old. But, damn I loved thinking about what she'd wear, smelling her perfume and listening to her read lines of Shakespeare."_

_Her eyebrow crept up. "Are you suggesting I thought about what you would wear?"_

_He smiled confidently. "Don't try and deny it."_

_Finally, he picked up his spanner again and held it carefully over the equipment he'd been fiddling with. "It's just not love, T'Pol. A crush is something that is never intended to happen."_

"_How I felt about you, as you describe an infatuation … it was more than that."_

_He stopped and stroked her cheek for a second. "But, it wasn't exactly love."_

_With that, he gave her a wink – reassuring her it was okay – and went back to work. Mildly shaken, she watched him for a moment. It pained her to know that his feelings for her were much deeper than possibly hers for him. Ending their relationship, and the way she did, wasn't one of her prouder moments. Occasionally, she thought back to it and regretted finalizing it the way she had. There was a more human approach, one that would explain all her feelings and why she had to end her affair with him. _

"_Trip," she whispered to the back of his head. Finishing her sentence before he could turn around, she closed her eyes. "You do yourself a disservice to believe I did not care about you. I did."_

"_I know you cared about me," he said. _

_When she opened her eyes, he continued puttering around and said something quite sage. "With love … there's this yearning … this massive weight that threatens to strangle your heart. It's crippling. You do all the wrong things for all the right reasons. You smile when there's no reason to. Laugh because you can raise your voice. Cry because its void is unbearable. It's the purest sorrow and the tastiest joy." _

_She swallowed deeply._

"_You'll know it one day – the difference between caring and love," he said. "It'll just come to ya."_

_She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. To let her know everything was okay, he grabbed her hand and squeezed back._

"_Trip--" she said. _

_Waving away any sentiment, he pointed to the equipment in her hand._

"_You gonna hand me that power relay or what?" he asked._

"_Yes," she said._

"_Damned thing keeps actin' up. I'm telling you, if this doesn't work, I'll just replace the whole lot of them." _

_And that was it. Rather than focus in on all the heartbreak, he teased her like he might any other time. _

It was a great testament to Trip that the man could forgive her so thoroughly. Even if she felt something close to the description he gave, she knew he was right; she didn't love him. It hurt her then, and sometimes – like now – it still pained her.

It was sometimes difficult for her to understand why she had severed the relationship the way she had. Looking down at the picture once more, she understood.

It wasn't the Starfleet regulations that Archer threatened that concerned T'Pol; she knew the captain would never force them - based on those rules – halt their relationship. It wasn't the fistfight she'd witnessed in the Mess Hall.

The matter was much more confusing. She had emotions for the captain – feelings which were more complicated than she would've thought. Knowing his thoughts and having them out in the open made the situation much more perplexing.

With Trip, she'd always felt the butterflies of bemusement. His radiant personality tickled her, quite surprisingly, and his boyish good looks further held his charm. He readily told her his feelings – not quite that he loved her, but enough for her to understand – so she welcomed their first touch and kiss. Befriending Trip had been easy, despite the banter and his impulsive, emotional nature.

Her feelings about the captain were much more complex.

There was a certain amount of what the humans might call hero worship; Captain Archer managed to always swoop in at the most convenient of times and save the day. It was a power he wielded without knowledge or understanding. To be the hero was at the core of his being, not a talent he practiced.

It was more than that, though. The two worked closely together, closer than she had with anyone else. They spent long hours on the bridge together, sought each other's counsel on issues and ate dinner together. The only times she didn't see him were the brief periods she was asked to assist Trip and while she slept.

Hours in each other's company, much of it when fate seemed on the brink of disaster, made a strange kind of friendship. It made the bond between them intense and deep, stronger than any relationship she'd had.

If she weren't a Vulcan, there were times she would've sworn she could read his mind; the ability to know exactly what he was going to say was uncanny. There were times too where their eyes met and she felt a connection. Sometimes, she noticed a spark twinkled in his pupil.

She'd experienced this long before the fight between Trip and Captain Archer in the Mess Hall. There had been times, like when he had discovered her Pa'naar, that she could see his spark. But after the argument, when he'd managed to nearly sever Trip's tongue, she'd suddenly understood what he felt for her was stronger than friendship. Although she'd known that jealousy could exist between friends, she'd witnessed the raw emotion on Archer's face when he eventually came to door to answer for his outrageous actions. He was on the verge of tears – for many reasons – and she was touched at the gesture; she'd had yet to see him cry. And it had caused her, despite his angry words that lashed out at her, to worry about him.

A part of her had wanted to wipe away a tear with one simple sweeping gesture and possibly do away with his strife as well. It hadn't been pity or regret. It had been something else, something that couldn't be quantified. It was what perhaps led her to end her relationship with Tucker so quickly … and badly. It was possibly the reason that she conjured his face when she needed reassurance in her darkest moments.

The emotion was allusive. It was difficult to determine what it was even now.

Closing her eyes, she'd tallied it up as an impenetrable bond of friendship – the kind two people who've devoted their lives to a service feel. And yet … sometimes she wondered if there was more.

Waking her from her daydream, her ears perked up and she heard the snoring suddenly stop with a snort and his ankles flex and pop.

_He's up._

Tucking the picture in at the same angle, she waited for him to come downstairs. He must've known she was awake, because he hadn't bothered to comb his hair, shower or shave. Rumpled and askew, his hair stuck out in all directions and his face was covered with a dark shadow.

"You're up before me again," he said.

"It appears that way."

Confounded he gave a small frown.

She said, "Actually, I wanted to awake early. I would … like to join you today. I believe you said there was a path we could take together."

"There is."

"Do you mind?"

He smiled. "Not at all."

She nodded as they went through their morning ritual of having her stand and take a few steps. When she'd finished and he'd helped her settle back into her chair, he leaned in a little.

"You know, as long as you're accompanying me on a hike, you could swim with me."

"Perhaps one day."

He nodded.

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

"You serious?"

"Yes."

He stared, furrowing his brow.

"I'll ask Enterprise to send something appropriate and then perhaps you and I can concentrate more fully on attempting to walk. We're not here very much longer, and I would like to return to duty soon."

"Okay," he said. She watched as he noticed she made him coffee and headed toward the machine that spurt it out. "You made this?"

"Yes."

His smile widened with surprise. "Thanks."

Before he reached it, she stopped him with her voice. "I've been entering deeper trances at night. I'd … I'd like to show you something."

He paused. "Okay."

Placing her hand on either side of the armchair, she pushed herself up with ease. And then confidently, as she'd been doing this all her life, she took several small steps. As she was about to take her fifth, she decided to warn him.

"I'm unsure I can continue."

He grinned wildly, closing the distance between them. "I'm here."

Breathing deeply, she tried before collapsing into his arms. For a second, he held her there, his deep rumbling laugh meant to encourage her, and then he eased her back to her chair.

"Maybe we should ask Phlox to give you the cane he'd talked about," Archer said.

"A cane? I'm not certain I'm ready."

Slyly, his grin turned toothy. "We can keep it here just in case."

It was hard to disagree with that logic.

Pouring himself a cup of java, he looked back with a lopsided grin. "I better hurry up if we're going for a walk today."

She smiled internally as she watched him nibble at his toast and swig his coffee. Her thoughts went back to the picture and she decided to put an end to the kind of thinking that worried about how she felt. Her primary goal was to get well and recover – to rejoin the team.

And if Trip was right, her feelings would eventually make themselves known anyway.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Thank you guys so much. (Sniff!) First, it's been an absolute pleasure and a treat to work with Telaka and Goshabyn. _Goodnight Enterprise _is such an inventive and imaginative story, it begged to have _Salanacon _written. In the world that was created there, with so many unspoken moments in Archer and T'Pol's history, I think there are easily other stories that could be explored – when Shran debriefed Archer on the rogue Andorians, the day Archer and T'Pol went to the beach (I'd like to think they re-visited May-or) and Trip caught them in a moment, the day T'Pol had a birthday cake dumped in her lap, Hoshi's photo project …..

Second, the scene in the mirror – I'm glad it presents a side to reality. I think Archer was spot on when he indicated every human feels self-conscious. I'm betting there isn't a man or woman who hasn't caught their own reflection and been disappointed by it at least once.

----

Archer and T'Pol took in the scenery nearly every day and she mentally scolded herself for not doing so sooner. The captain was right, the trails had exquisite flora and fauna. The colors of the animals were brilliant and exotic, caused by a unique chemical reaction that she would have to search further when they joined Enterprise again. Creatures whirled overhead from towering trees; the animals, which reminded her of sa'durak – little primates that enjoyed the caves as their homes, were wondrous. Their small hairy faces appeared to always be smiling.

Dramatic cliffs lined some of the island's perimeter and every day she was astounded to see Archer creep just a little closer to the edge as if he was going to jump off, hurling himself below with the natives. Eventually, he'd sigh and return to her side, which made her heartbeat and breathing return to normal.

More than anything she enjoyed the warm sunshine on her skin and noticed a light bronze that began to build up – a color that managed to hide many of her imperfections. Although, she noted, she thought about her disfigurement less and less … or perhaps the captain was correct that time actually healed her wounds rather than hiding them.

True to her word, she also decided to venture to the beach. She dressed in a shortened version of a wetsuit with a coverall over it – the length protected her from the chilly sea and covered many of her flaws. When they'd reached sand, and her wheelchair could no longer assist her, Archer swung her into his arms and set her down before spreading out a blanket. Making chitchat, he would open his book, kick off his shoes and tug at his shirt while she pushed off her robe. They lay in the sunshine until one was ready to take the plunge.

The first time was the most traumatic. After stretching out on the blanket for a couple of hours to enjoy the sunshine, he finally looked at her.

"Ready?" he asked.

Timidly watching the gentle waves of the ocean, she provided a hesitant nod.

Lifting her, he started to take her from their blanket and toward the water. Her forearm, which was exposed, rubbed against his hairy chest accidentally and the woman stared up with concern.

"I apologize."

"It's okay," he said.

And then suddenly, her waist felt wet and for a moment panic alighted her eyes.

"I gotcha," he said.

He was about to let her go, probably so that her fingers would stop clenching his skin like talons, when she clutched him harder.

"I'm not ready," she said.

Giving a small smile, he nodded. "Okay."

Although she felt weightless, she clung to him for a few reasons. Despite having to pass a swimming test to serve on Earth, she'd never been comfortable in the water … especially since it'd been ten years since she'd last swum. She wasn't sure, when he set her down, whether she'd be able to stand and the thought of her legs giving way made her nervous. And then, finally, she realized being in his arms was safe. That was the thing about her strange friendship with Archer, she felt protected when near.

"Look!"

A furry, brown head bobbed up from the clear blue water. The animal had long whiskers – obviously mammal – with white spots and black eyes. Blurting out something between a honk and a bark, his webbed foot slapped the water.

"I've seen him almost every day but not this close," Archer whispered.

_I wish I had my scanner, _she thought as it dodged over her shoulder and out her sight

"Kinda looks like a cross between an otter and a seal. Can you see him okay?" he whispered.

Actually, she couldn't and before she spoke up, Archer shifted positions so that his hands wrapped loosely around her waist. Watching the animal, it took her a few minutes to realize the sea was up to her middle and yet … she still felt secure.

"I think there's a whole family living over there," he said. One arm carefully maneuvered away from her and pointed to a small cave that was barely within eyesight. "I saw a smaller one yesterday."

Before long, she left his protective hold to kick her weak legs and arms.

Within a few days of this routine, she noticed how much stronger her limbs were. And soon, like Archer, she looked forward to their trips to the beach. One of the things she enjoyed most was sitting on the towel and reviewing scans she'd taken of local flora and fauna. She even managed to sneak a scanner close enough to the sea creature to determine what it was. The native word was Goolari and it literally meant "silly one." Noticing the way the animal slapped its feet against the water and the splashing it amused itself with, she happened to agree. And yet, there was a striking similarity between the way the little creature zipped along in the water, poked its head out and splashed simply because it could and the way Archer bobbed in out of waves and splashed no one in particular simply because he could. In fact, he even chuckled for no reason other than pure joy.

It was times like this she furrowed her brow at the notion of leaving. Once, he saw her consternation and left the ocean to lie on the towel with her.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied. Her eyes noticed – despite his tan – his nose and cheeks had sunburned as they did almost daily.

"What's wrong?"

"I believe I said I was fine."

"You did, and I'm asking you what's wrong." He paused. "I know you, T'Pol."

"It will be difficult to leave."

He blinked. "I think so, too."

"Maybe we can come here again some day."

"I hope so."

The twinkle in his eye that shone, sparkled and then his eyes became a little dark before he averted them. His mouth opened, as if he had something to say, and then he closed it and turned his attention to the ocean out ahead.

-----

Each day her limbs grew stronger until one day, her wheelchair had disappeared completely. It was a conspiracy among the captain, Trip and Dr. Phlox, but one that had paid off entirely.

T'Pol opened her eyes in the morning slowly and instead of seeing the contraption by her bed, there was a cane – a sleek one. Ivory in color with Vulcan symbols strewn across it, it leaned against her nightstand.

Her conspirators had obviously done their homework – the Vulcans, despite being logical beings, saw large staffs as a sign of respect. The one that leaned against her nightstand was one that Surak would've been proud – pride: an emotion – to use.

Scenes had been painted onto it: Surak at Mt. Selaya, Master Katar (the man who'd helped perfect meditation principles that every child used), the a boy completing the kaswan ritual and other moments in the life of a Vulcan.

Counting them, she'd witnessed or been taught every one. At the age of seven, she had learned the Katar method of meditation, surpassing many of the children in her class. Her father had instilled the stories of Surak from a much younger age, and she'd been aware of every one. She herself had completed the kaswan ritual, left in the desert for several days. Every picture was her life. Everyone.

_Still_.

A knock disrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she said.

"I see you found it." Archer pointed to the cane. "I just hope you're not too mad. We wanted to surprise you."

"It _was _unexpected." Pausing she held the staff in her hand. "When a Vulcan reaches 150, it is customary that he or she receives a staff such as this. It pays homage to their age." She paused. "It is to honor his or her wisdom."

He looked down.

"You knew," she said.

He said, "I've lived among Vulcans all my life. Storak retired while my father was still alive; he received a gift like this from Soval, in fact. My father explained what it was.

"I know you're a little too young to receive it …. But, you have a lot of wisdom to me and the rest of the crew. Besides, Phlox and Trip helped me get it."

"These staffs come in three colors – ivory, red and gold. I have always preferred ivory," she said.

"I'm glad to hear it," he said.

"You honor me," she said. "And I believe you and the doctor are correct. It is time for me to accept the next challenge."

"Good. We weren't sure exactly how you'd react." He gave a sheepish grin. "Trip said, 'I'm glad you're down on the planet with her and not me.'"

"Am I that stubborn and unwilling to change?" she asked.

Archer blinked several times before answering. "No more so than me."

His eyes sparkled as they sometimes did and he watched as she used the cane to leave her bed. The material in her hand felt smooth and sturdy. Almost right away, she was able to use it without bobbling back and forth. Marveling at it and running her hands over the sanded wood, she looked back at the captain and her eyes held a glimmer as well.

"Thank you."

He shrugged. "I'll start working on breakfast." And then he left.

Holding onto the stick, she reveled in her Vulcan tradition. She may be more emotional, but this symbol and the runes and pictures on it reminded her of her culture. Reminded her that _she_ was Vulcan. Standing a little taller, she used the Kau to get to the bathroom.

-----

Three days before they were scheduled to return home, Archer and T'Pol took a walk along a pathway through a thicket of overgrown trees – ones that reminded her of Earth's mangroves in size and thickness without being suspended in water. The foliage everywhere was lush and for a moment, she was reminded of the movie Trip liked about killer snakes from the rainforest.

The Vulcan was slowed by her cane, but the human next to her continued to wait until she caught up or slow his gait for her to keep up.

She took scans of the various creatures and scurried along the trail or zoomed above her head as well as some of the mango-colored flowers that spewed red seed into the air where it rained down tiny bits of confetti. She'd learned they were called "Ma-yori" – a word that loosely translated to dreamers and that the plant released its seed once per day at random intervals. Although the flowers' pollen didn't have any hallucinogenic effects, she wondered if perhaps the lore of the humanoids connected to this one specific flora and made a mental note to ask El'ani.

Up ahead, Archer walked poking his nose in one, and then dusting it off when the plant exploded with a sneeze.

"Isn't this great?" he asked.

It was a new hiking trail that he'd discovered on one of his runs. Apparently he hadn't run down it, just saw it from a distance, but knew "it was one he wanted to hike before they left."

The thought of leaving brought a small frown to her face.

"It's so secluded," he said.

She remembered him complaining about running into too many tourists and travelers on a trail yesterday, one that he said detracted from the notion of "getting closer to nature."

"It is secluded," she said. And silently, she agreed on his other evaluation. The was one of the most scenic walks they'd taken and was made more enjoyable because no one greeted them on the trail. The forest belonged to them.

As they plodded ahead, T'Pol decided to say a few words about their trip … about everything. "Captain, I appreciate you …." There were really too many things that he needed to be thanked for, so she paused and then gazed at him, letting the remark stand. It was much shorter than she had intended and though unfinished, the words summed everything up.

He stopped and turned toward her with a smile. Without letting the moment become too intense, he continued to walk along the trail at a slower pace.

"Want to turn around up here?" he asked, pointing ahead less than a hundred feet.

She looked down at her own legs, which trembled slightly despite walking two miles.

"Yes," she said.

Marching ahead, he continued up the road as she spied something in her scanner. Pressing the blip on her screen, she gathered more details – mammal, approximately 67 kilograms, roughly 1 meter tall. The analysis: a garon.

T'Pol typed the information in to find out more about it as she called out to the captain. "There's an animal at bearing 3.4--"

Her head jerked up when she heard the animal rustle from behind thick foliage to show himself. It was enormous with wiry brown hair and large white tusks jutting out from near its mouth and snout. Behind it was a long spiky tail that smashed nearby leaves to the ground. The grunting sound it made caused her to halt in fear and she waited for further instructions.

"I didn't bring my phaser," he said quietly. "Or communicator. Did you?"

"No."

He was about to move, when she stopped him with her voice. "I recommend remaining still."

Quietly, she called up the information on the garon. Indeed the picture that showed – something that resembled a wild boar – displayed. Notes underneath indicated the animal was aggressive and was known to charge to protect its territory. Occasionally, it would attack if it was hungry or to safeguard young. Her eyes darted up and behind the creature where she heard the subtle sound of running water. Perhaps the garon had nested in the thick of the jungle and guarded her young. The moment her lips opened to convey the information and provide some suggestions, the animal charged.

In a split second, it had toppled Archer – leaping at his chest and sending him hard to the ground. The two wrestled; the captain struggling to free himself from the animal.

Hobbling toward them, she wanted to join the melee.

"No!" Archer yelled at her.

Watching the two thrash, she noticed her captain deliver several punches and blows, further infuriating the snorting beast. More over, she noticed the captain's shirt was doused in scarlet and torn slightly.

When she continued toward them, he fought. "T'Pol, I'm giving you an order!"

Poking the hog-like creature with her cane, it started toward her. But before it could reach her, she smacked it – with all her might – with the cane and sent it howling to the ground. Unable to stand on her weakened legs, she fell and as the animal was about to attack, she grabbed it and wrestled it to the ground. Wrapping her fingers around its thick shoulder, she pinched with all her strength. The beast twitched, as if impervious to the Vulcan practice. As she was about to revert to something more deadly, the garon slunk to the ground – unconscious. Catching her breath, she noted the animal bled, the cane must've drawn the blood, a deep brown color. It clung to its matted fur.

_The blood on the captain's shirt is entirely his own._

"I gave you an order," he said. Pushing himself to sit up, he gave a mild groan.

"Starfleet regulations specify that during …," she began, letting her voice trail off. The man's face was paler than usual and she noticed his lips were stained with crimson. A drop of blood leaked from his mouth, trailing down to his chin.

Hurriedly, she crawled over to him as he attempted to stand and then fell helplessly back down. It's when she realized he'd been gored in the side by one of creature's long tusks.

Carefully lifting up his shirt, she saw the wound and her own belly revolted a little. The gash, it was that instead of a puncture, was longer and deeper than she would've suspected, injuring his intestines and other internal organs. She could see something pink and gelatinous, and wondered if his innards were exposed. Ripping a strand off her robe, a part that was clean, she pressed it gingerly to his side as he made a quiet protest.

"Hold this," she said.

Putting a little pressure to the garment, she took his hand and placed it there. Using the scanner, she checked his wound and gave a faint frown at the results: it had indeed ruptured his internal organs. His temperature had already lowered as well – he was going into shock.

_He may bleed to death._

As if confirming her fear, she noticed his hands were already soaked where he tried to staunch the flow.

Her mind spinning into overtime, she tried to think of solutions. It took more than an hour to walk two miles, undoubtedly it would take her the same to leave and at least another thirty before someone was able to get back to him. Towing him would be impossible; the damage done to his body made it impossible to drag him over the rough terrain and again it would take him an hour to travel the distance.

"There are not many options," she said mostly to herself.

"I just need to rest for a second."

An eyebrow quivered. "The matter is more grave."

Glancing down at his red hands, he nodded lamely and with confusion.

"Can you walk to get help?" he asked.

"I'm not leaving you," she said.

"I'll be fine," he tried to reassure.

Resolutely, she contradicted him. "I'm not leaving."

Retrieving the scanner a few feet away, crawling to it, she typed in a few commands. Although they didn't have communicators, she could stream data to Enterprise and hope that Hoshi, or whomever was sitting in the communications chair, was watching the entries. Entering the message, she decided to leave it on replay as if an SOS. She typed: EMERGENCY! The captain is injured. Transport immediately.

With that, she left the coordinates, the hour, minutes and seconds of her entry, as well as the date.

The chance that Hoshi was actually at her chair and reviewing low-band transmissions – data streams - was rare. Extremely. So much so, that she refused to calculate the odds.

"Heck of a way to end a vacation," he said.

Although he had a small smile on his face – mildly bemused by the irony – she noticed his teeth chattered.

"Are you cold?" she asked.

"I'm all right."

Dragging her body over to him, she sat next to him hoping that would provide enough warmth. Fiddling with the scanner a little more, she tried to send a signal into the air above – a beam of light – to signify their location. It wasn't quite a flare, but she believed it may help them. Taking the case off the equipment she tweaked with the contents only enough to allow the modification without disrupting her continuous SOS. That was the most difficult part.

"You know, despite what just happened I've had a nice time here," he said.

His voice sounded a little hoarse. Without looking up, she reflected on the comment. Despite having to resolve many physical and mental ailments, she'd had an enjoyable time as well, especially the last couple of weeks.

"I'm glad we finally managed to get to the beach," he said.

"I am as well," she said, continuing her work.

He rattled off a list of highlights of their vacation as she worked feverishly to adjust the scanner. In his long list were small things, moments between the two of them, like seeing the sea creature together and watching her become nervous as he crowded near the cliff's edge as if he was going to hurl himself to the bottom. With each new item or detail, she heard his voice become weaker until it was barely a whisper.

Worse, blood pooled beneath the man and occasionally he coughed to free it from his mouth. It was clear he was on the verge of unconsciousness.

Like a laser beam, she focused on the scanner and began testing the shortened red beam the streamed out. It reached only to the treetops and not above. Determination bade her continue, and she worked rapidly to get it done.

"I remember when we first met at the medical facility. You remember?"

"Yes," she said, keeping her eyes on the contraption in her hands.

"I really didn't like you." His speech was slurred.

Looking out of the corner of her eye, she noted his lips curled up. "I didn't like you either."

"You thought you were better than me," he said. "I didn't like that."

Rigging the display, she tried to project the beam a little longer to no avail.

He whispered, "But, you were right."

She stopped. Staring into his eyes they looked a little vacant – as if the hue was being extinguished. A streak of panic worked itself down her spine preventing her from action.

"I don't think I'd be as strong as you've been, T'Pol. I don't mean just what you've done here … although I think it's taken a lot more chutzpah than I have … I mean serving aboard a ship of aliens …."

"I'm almost able to project the laser above the trees. If I have just a few minutes."

"Struggling with Pa'naar, being attacked by Tolaris …. How I've treated you … sometimes yelled at you. I know it hasn't been easy. And yet you've never complained."

Her voice trembled. "Listen to me. Someone will reach us shortly."

"I've been proud to be your captain and your friend. You mean more to me than you'll ever know."

His eyes slipped shut after the remark, missing by seconds the tear that escaped her duct and was wiped away quickly as if it was never shed. Hoping to rouse him from her slumber, she prodded him gently.

"Captain?"

Her hands wrapped around his wrist and felt a weakened pulse. "Captain?"

Logic flashed through her mind – to continue, desperately, working on the scanner which given another fifteen minutes would most likely work. But emotion overrode everything else and before she could think her hand for the first time stroked his face, including the tiny hairs of his cheek. Sighing, she swept her fingers to his temple and then diverted them to his hair, which felt thicker than she'd imagined … and softer.

Closing her eyes and bowing her head, she echoed deep inside mind. "Please."

It was a plea for her brain to work more quickly and with greater success. Or maybe it was to beg to be rescued. But, a few minutes passed and no one came. Continuing with the scanner was pointless. She'd need more than a few minutes to tweak the contents and it was folly to think she could do so in less than an hour.

"No," she whispered. Shaking his body with a little more force, she reiterated the words.

"No!"

As she took a breath, her heart pumped quickly, straining with emotion. There was yearning there. To save him would bring her delight and joy. If he never opened his eyes again, there would be a void – a profound and crushing one. For a moment, she recalled Trip's comments about love, and wondered if this was it.

"Jonathan," she whispered with a little more desperation.

Just as she was on the edge of destruction, a miracle happened – their forms tingled and twinkled with light.

TBC

A/N: I'm sorry! Okay, one more and we're done.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: BTW, Dennis, glad you're okay! Well, this is it … for real – real.

-----

Phlox met T'Pol and a nearly lifeless captain on the transporter pad. Immediately, the physician began giving orders to those gathered to assist him, including Ensign Cutler. Pointing to two orderlies who'd managed to carefully scoop Archer up, the doctor then turned to T'Pol who was still crouched on the platform, shaken.

"Are you injured?" he asked. His question was probably directed at the catatonic way she stared at the captain's body.

"No," she said, weakly.

Distracted, the man nodded and joined the orderlies who carried the captain away to Sickbay, as Trip left the transporter console to help her up.

"You all right?" Trip asked.

"Yes," she said. Her own clothes were stained with red blood and she noticed her robes were more dingy than expected.

He peered down at her with worry.

"I … I believed he wouldn't survive," she whispered.

"What happened?"

She recalled the story in the exacting detail that she always did, so much so that Trip used his hands to speed her along. At the middle of the tale, he raised both eyebrows and smiled.

"You managed to bring the creature down?" he asked. "With a cane?"

It was more of a staff and the comment about it was a footnote in her story, but she realized she had.

"Yes."

Before she could tell the rest, Trip curled his arm around his friend and brought her to his chest, tucking her head under his chin. Within a few seconds he released her.

"Well, ain't that somethin'."

Hobbling next to the engineer, she asked him to take her to Sickbay and he was too happy to do so. As they exited the room and passed down the hallway, they talked – something that they hadn't done for any length, other than by data stream, of time since she left for the planet.

"Ensign Sato was at her station and read our emergency message," T'Pol said. It wasn't really a question.

"Yes," he said. Producing a strange smile, he shook his head. "You know, that was pretty damned brilliant … although, maybe it wasn't so smart to leave everything else behind – like your communicator?"

"And medical kit." She quipped an eyebrow. "No. The hike was so brief, neither of us thought it would be necessary."

"What are the chances Hoshi'd see your message?"

The comment was meant more as admiration for blink luck, but T'Pol answered anyway.

"Extremely remote," she said.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to look her over from head to toe, making a general assessment of her.

"What?" she asked.

"You know, T'Pol, it seems like the planet agreed with you. A month ago …." He paused and then continued. "You just kinda seem like your old self."

"The experience … it was healing." There was more to say. Much more. The simple conversations she had with the captain, swimming in the ocean, daily hikes …. The answer was too profound and lengthy to cover in a single elevator ride. Ironically, she ventured saving the captain's life gave her a newfound confidence, as if she was now able to be the first officer.

He gave a nod.

When the lift stopped at the level for the medical facility, the engineer curled his arm around her and took her there. Phlox had already hooked the captain to an IV, giving him blood. Unlike on the planet where he was on the brink of death, his face held a ruddy color and his breathing seemed less shallow.

_He's going to live._

Quite illogically, she recognized he'd survive as soon as they made it aboard Enterprise. Trip must've drawn the same conclusion because he smiled.

"Good news, Doc?" Trip asked.

Cutler placed a pair of gloves on the physician as he answered.

Phlox said, "I think once we make some repairs to his intestines, he should be just fine. In fact, he should be able to return to duty in two days."

Trip nodded. "Lemme know when he wakes up."

As his grip around T'Pol's shoulder increased, noting he would help her elsewhere, she asked a question without thinking.

"May I stay here?" she asked.

Phlox shrugged. "There's nothing really--"

T'Pol reasserted. "I would like to stay."

He said, "Very well."

With that, the doctor pointed to a chair across the room and Tucker assisted her to there. Finally, Cutler spread a curtain out to confine the patient and hide the procedure from T'Pol's view.

Settling into her chair, the Vulcan let out a small sigh.

Tucker decided to slip into the chair next to her. "Need anything?"

"No."

"You sure?"

His blue eyes entreated hers and she wound a hand around his.

"No. Thank you, Trip."

"Maybe tonight we can catch up on everything that happened. When I last talked to the cap'n, he said you got some pictures of some of the flora and fauna."

"I cataloged them for study."

"I understand you got in a few," he said, smiling.

Taking her hand swiftly back, she crossed her arms. "The captain was insistent."

He laughed. "You rather go down and collect everything, or would you rather we send one of the last groups to come back from vacation to gather everything?"

"I want to return."

"Thought you might. All righty. We'll collect the scanner and cane and put it in your quarters."

"Thank you."

"You bet." He patted her leg and then left.

Her hands folded neatly in her lap and she stared at the drape.

----

It took five hours, but Cutler finally drew the curtain back. Phlox emerged from it dressed in his gown and immediately began to take it off.

"Doctor?" T'Pol asked. The urgency in her voice made it tremble.

Wadding the used clothing and placing it into a biodisposal unit, he walked over to the sink and hurled a smile over his shoulder.

"Everything went smoothly," he said.

Bowing her head, she let out a long breath.

He crossed the room to her. "He probably won't wake for another five hours or so. I suggest you go ahead and get some rest. I can call you--"

"I'd prefer to stay here," she said.

"There's nothing you can do for him," Phlox said.

She nodded. "I understand."

"You don't want to shower?" he asked, pointing to her soiled robes.

She looked down at her garments – a shower was definitely in order. And yet, for the first time in her life she thought being grubby was preferable.

_Preferable to leaving the captain's side._

It wasn't to repay him for the countless hours spent waiting for her after she'd returned from Salanacon. The reason she wanted to remain wasn't simply because she was his first officer. If she were truthful with herself, it wasn't merely because she was his friend.

The two had become much closer than she would've liked to admit … closer still even than their already tight working relationship and friendship. Archer knew things intimate information about her – her family, insecurities – and she knew some about him.

There was something else – quite unidentifiable. It bore consideration and reflection, but not now.

"I'd prefer to stay here," she said.

"Then, can someone bring you a change of clothes? You can do so here, if you'd like."

"That would be considerate. Thank you, Doctor."

Cutler gave her a sweet smile and then helped the Vulcan get situated a little nearer to Archer's bed. The woman then volunteered to retrieve some clothes for T'Pol and walked out of the facility. Dr. Phlox continued with his duties, crossing over to the other side and out of view.

The Vulcan pulled herself up from her chair and looked at his face remembering what it was like to stroke his cheek and touch his hair. She wasn't sure what bade that curiosity then, or why she felt the need to do so again. Giving into the emotion – whatever it was – she brought her fingers to his forehead and pushed back some of his hair. Before she could do more, she pushed herself back down in the chair beside him to wait.

----

Archer opened his eyes slowly and with confusion. The light was more fluorescent here in this part of the rainforest. When things came into focus, he could see the lights shining brightly overhead in Sickbay.

_Sickbay?_

Groggily, he remembered everything including reeling off a few words as if they'd be his last. He'd had close calls before, but the one he faced was a lot nearer than all the others; he recalled knowing on death's door and about to have someone open it.

Shifting slightly, he winced at the pain in his side and suddenly felt two people close in on him.

"Captain!" Phlox said, merrily.

"Captain?" T'Pol asked.

"Hey," he croaked out.

"How are you feeling?" Phlox asked.

"I've felt better."

"You were very lucky. You almost didn't make it back," Phlox said.

Archer remembered T'Pol springing into action and bringing down a beast he couldn't fell. The woman even now had her hands clenched to the side of his biobed, leaning against it to keep her from falling.

"She managed to send a message to Enterprise through via data stream," Phlox said. The doctor explained the exciting way the information came up and how Hoshi notified him in a panic to stand at the transporter for the emergency. "It was the most exciting thing to happen this month."

The captain wasn't sure if that was bad or good, but furrowed his brow. "I'm fortunate to have resourceful crewmen." Then a smile worked its way over his mouth. "Thanks."

"Of course," she said. Phlox provided an overdeveloped grin.

"When can I leave?" he asked.

"Tomorrow."

Just as Phlox had delivered the statement, Travis entered wearing large blisters over his body and scratching them. Phlox sprang into action, determining it was an insect that had bitten the helmsman while on the planet and then gave him a few injections to ease the swelling, rash and itching.

T'Pol stayed at the captain's side, hovering over him. And Archer used the commotion to talk with her.

"Sorry I cut your stay a little short," he said.

"I am thankful you'll recover," she said.

"You took a big risk back there."

"You would've done so for me."

_That_ was definitely true, but beside the point. "You could've gotten hurt."

"And yet, I did not. At any rate, I believe I proved something to myself."

"What's that?"

"I'm ready to return to duty."

Archer's eyebrows climbed against his head. "What does Phlox think?"

She straightened. "He concurs. Your approval is the only one I need."

"When would you return? Right now?" he asked.

"I thought perhaps in a few days. I wanted to collect my things before I accepted the duties of first officer again."

"You didn't already?" he asked.

"We retrieved my staff and scanner; however, I wanted … I wanted to ensure you were okay before going back down to the planet."

A lopsided smile struck his face. "Listen," he said more quietly, "about the things I said--"

"Captain, your friendship means more to me than you will ever know as well," she replied.

He nodded. That wasn't the intention he'd given to the statement. Although he didn't profess his undying love, he'd hinted at it. Strongly hinted. The man averted his eyes wondering if he'd ever be able to utter words of love to her. If he couldn't with his dying breath let the words spill from his lips, odds were good he'd never be able to.

She said, "I was also hoping you would return to the planet with me. Your belongings are still there as well."

"It'd be nice. Doesn't seem right to leave without thanking our guide, El'ani."

"Agreed," she said. "Would you like to leave tomorrow?"

"Sure."

The Sickbay doors opened and closed as Travis took his allergy-ridden body back to work, and Phlox waddled back over.

The physician said, "The captain needs a little rest, or he won't be able to."

"Of course," T'Pol said. The women reached her hand around his and gave it a light squeeze and then used her staff to leave.

"She's been here for more than ten hours. I thought she could use a rest," Phlox said. Curling his lips up, he pointed to him. "Not that you couldn't use some sleep as well."

"Ten hours?" he asked.

"She refused to leave your side."

"She didn't have to," he said.

Phlox said, "It appears everything between you on the planet was resolved."

"Yeah."

Before more could be uttered, Trip lollygagged into the facility and threw a large grin at his friend. "Cap'n!"

Archer smiled. "Hey."

The doctor wagged his finger. "Commander Tucker, try to keep your conversation short. He needs his rest."

Tucker nodded and leaned on the biobed, casually.

"Everything on Enterprise--?" Archer asked.

"Yeah, everything's a-okay. 'Cept for Travis breaking out in hives."

He smiled. "He was just here."

"Ran into T'Pol in the hallway. She said you were up and that I might be able to sneak in here."

Archer laughed. "Glad you did."

"You look a hell of a lot better than when you entered here. Doc said you'd be ready to return to duty in a few days."

"I'm sure you're ready to give up command. A month's a long time to look after Enterprise." He paused. "Thanks, Trip."

"My pleasure. Sometimes being captain has its privileges. Catfish every Friday and Key lime pie every Sunday."

"Chef's not mad, is he?"

"I made a deal that he could have my mamma's recipe. Seemed to cheer him right up." He paused and then leaned in. "T'Pol looks great."

"Yeah, she does."

Trip smiled and then patted his friend on the shoulder. "I've enjoyed being captain, but it'll be nice to have ya back."

Archer returned the grin and watched the Southerner whistle out the door. All in all, he reflected as he closed his eyes, everything was almost back to normal.

----

T'Pol waited at the transporter with her ivory staff in hand as Archer slowly strolled into the location. If she didn't know the man, she wouldn't have been able to tell he'd been injured. But knowing him as she did, she knew he wasn't quite marching at his typical gait; the man had a long stride, so much so it was difficult sometimes to keep up sometimes when they talked in the hallways.

"Are you well enough?" she asked.

"Doc said to take it easy, but I think so," he said, climbing onto the platform. "We're kinda like the walking wounded."

The remark met with a single eyebrow that flickered. Archer extended a hand, helping T'Pol onto a disc and then nodded at the ensign working the controls.

"Energize."

The two flickered onto a meadow under an enormous blue sky with a single radiant sun shining above. Just as they'd begun their trip, the raven-haired woman who'd been their guide met them there.

"I am pleased to see you are well, Jonathan. I heard about the garon attack. They are unpredictable."

He smiled. "Thanks for your concern. I'm doing just fine."

"I understood from your message the two of you are leaving today, T'Pol?" El'ani asked.

"Yes." She bowed slightly. "We appreciate your hospitality."

"I am only too happy to serve you." Pointing to the house the two stayed in for a short period of time, the native woman smiled. "Guta alon she-ya. Guta alon may-ya. It is a saying: When a guest leaves a house, the house becomes lonely. Your house has been sad since your departure."

Archer gave a lopsided smile and everyone headed in the direction, across the clearing and toward a band of swaying trees. When they entered, T'Pol was almost overcome with emotion. It wasn't the house who felt sad, it was her.

El'ani excused herself traipse around the house and to the back porch as T'Pol turned to her captain. The two entered silently and looked around the room. Only a day had passed and yet everything about the place seemed different … not the location of the furniture or the smells, but the _feeling_.

_I'm personifying,_ she thought.

"I suppose this is it," he said.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I better go get my stuff together."

"I've never been up the stairs," she said.

"Want to come?" he asked.

"Yes."

They both leisurely moved up the stairs, Archer clinging to the rail as he hauled himself up the stairs. When they got to the top, T'Pol's eyes scanned the room. He was neater than she would've hypothesized from the way he left his towels in the living room. As he entered and made a beeline to start putting his things away, her fingers caressed a book he'd had out. It was one he'd finished on the beach while they were together; one he'd spent a great deal of time describing in splendid detail: _A Passage to India_.

Across the room she noted a balcony that overlooked the ocean. Making her way to the mosaic tile there, with her cane in her hand, she looked out into the sea and thought about her captain dashing into waves and breaking through them like the little sea creature they'd spotted a few days ago.

Those memories, the ones of the beach and hiking, seemed so much more real than the two days she'd spent in a cave. The days with Ral and the people from Salanacon seemed distant and vague like a dream, one that she didn't want to reflect on anymore or remember.

"It's a nice view," he said.

She agreed. "It is."

Without realizing she'd formed the words outloud, she spoke.

"I wonder if I will ever be able to completely forget," she said.

"Forget your time with--?"

"Yes, forget my time with Ral," she whispered.

It was the first time she didn't cringe when his name was spoken. Archer stepped onto the balcony with her, staying near the bedroom and folded his arms across his chest.

"I don't know," he said.

"Although it no longer haunts me, it is …."

He ducked his head, waiting for her to say more.

"Vulcans don't merely suppress unpleasant memories or feelings, we obliterate them."

"I think humans wish they could."

"How do you keep from remembering terrible events?" she asked.

With a frown, he answered her honestly. "You don't. You recall things at inconvenient times."

She waited for an example, so he supplied one. He said, "I sometimes think about my father dying."

"Do you think about him often?"

"No. And it's a bittersweet memory – I remember trips we took together usually in the same instant I think about the day he passed away." He said gently, "I doubt there's much on Salanacon you felt was particularly sweet."

"No."

"Your memories, T'Pol, will always be there. Sometimes it'll fill you with sorrow. Sometimes it'll make you angry. But … you have people who care about you. As a human, sometimes talking about feelings helps. Maybe it'll help you."

"Do you talk about your father?" she asked. Stories about Henry Archer were rare, even though she supposed that much of who Archer had become happened the day or because of his father's demise.

He sighed. "No."

"Perhaps the most painful ones every human keeps hidden?"

"Depends on the human."

"Trip discusses his feelings regularly," she said.

"Yes, he does."

"Why don't you?" she asked.

The question left him quiet. Seriously, he looked into the distance and shrugged as if pondering the question. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at her.

"I guess it's just the way I am."

"Perhaps you can take your own advice?"

He gave a bemused chuckle. "Perhaps. Mom and I have talked about it some."

"I don't have family members."

"Of course you do. Enterprise."

Her eyebrow flickered and the two retreated from each other's company to gather their things and go home.

----

Before they left the planet, T'Pol took one more look out the back porch and El'ani used it as her opportunity to speak with Archer. He had a bag hefted over his shoulder and was waiting in the living room.

"Tomoreh has listened to you," El'ani said.

Although he found the deities these people worshipped charming, he'd put no more stock in them than he would a rabbit's foot or a horseshoe. To be polite, and because he liked her, he smiled.

"Thank you."

"Your friend is much better," she said.

"She is."

"You have dreams as well; things yet acted on."

With a sigh, he let the bag fall from his shoulder. "El'ani, my people don't really believe in superstition--"

"You may not believe, but you don't have to. Tomoreh has dreamed you into existence."

Giving a warm smile, he bowed his head figuring he couldn't really argue with her. "I've enjoyed my time here. I appreciate everything you've done."

"I have something for Jonathan."

"You don't have to do that."

"It is nothing material. I have counsel for you."

"Oh?"

"T'Pol will come to your homeworld. Invite her in."

He furrowed his brow at the cryptic message.

"The journey will be difficult, but in the end you will be pleased," she said.

Archer was about to inquire more when T'Pol walked through the doors and entered the kitchen where they were waiting for her. El'ani shook her head, as if there was no more to say, and led the two out of the house.

"This is it," Archer said, leaning toward T'Pol.

"It is indeed," the Vulcan said.

The two walked out carrying the bags and Archer managed to snag hers away from her on their way out. Heading back to the place they transported in, both waited until they became a beam of light.

----

When the Vulcan entered the bridge for the first time in more than one month, still leaning on the white cane, the humans yelled loudly enough to almost startle her almost back into the turbolift.

"Surprise!" they said. The first face she saw was Travis' mischievous grin.

When her pulse returned to normal, she noted Reed, Hoshi, Trip and Archer all grinned equally broadly.

"Good to have you back, T'Pol," Archer said.

Trip ceremoniously carried the knife for the cake over to her as if it were a samurai sword.

"Cut the cake," he said.

With only mild surprise, she looked to Hoshi. "Mekek?"

The communications officer giggled. "It was the closest thing I could find. Chef made it specially for you."

Taking the knife she looked among her comrades and cleared her throat. "This is an honor."

Grabbing a plate, Trip urged her to cut the first piece and then with slight confusion, she did. Dishes continued to be handed to her until someone finally announced the last piece was for her. Silently, she commented the tradition of serving the guest of honor last was a peculiar one.

With a mouthful of the substance, Trip pointed at the meal with his fork. "Not quite pecan pie, but it ain't half bad." A slight sneer wormed onto his mouth. "Although, might help if there was sugar in it."

T'Pol was quick to reply. "Humans eat over two cups of sugar daily. The Vulcans dietary needs are more focused on nutrition."

Everyone chuckled as Trip screwed up his face. "You sayin' that Vulcans don't eat sugar at all?"

"That's correct."

"No wonder ya'll are so dour."

"And it's not hard to determine why you have more thirteen cavities according to Dr. Phlox's reports," she said.

Trip frowned and Archer decided to intercede holding his hands in front of him to call off whatever rebuttal the engineer had worked up.

"It was Commander Tucker's idea to have something to welcome you back," he said to her.

Suddenly, she softened and the blonde hung his head as if embarrassed his CO called out that he actually cared in front of all his buddies. Archer shook his head in response, a little mystified at why the two acted like children when together … even T'Pol.

Reed ribbed his pal in the ribs. "He was worried sick about you." Then looking at his friends, with a gaze lingering on the captain, he corrected himself. "We all were."

Phlox joined the party, a little hurt there wasn't enough cake left until Trip announced it was "like eating spongy cardboard."

Holding onto his gut, the Denobulan produced an overeager smile. "Perhaps it's just as well. I … frankly I'm here to congratulate T'Pol, not partake in mekek."

The Vulcan after nibbling on a bit of her cake, set it down and then a little glassy eyed told the Bridge they had touched her. She gave credit to all of them – for Reed, Trip, Phlox and Archer for saving her life. She thanked, with deepest and warmest regards, Hoshi for managing to watch meaningless communications to and from the planet. She also thanked Travis for visiting her often with ailments that averted Phlox's attention from time to time. It was a joke that made everyone, including the helmsman laugh. And then clearing her throat once more, she said the most emotional words she'd voiced to all of them.

"You _are _my family," she said. There was much more detail she could entail, but it would be pointless to do so.

After gathering for another thirty minutes or so, everyone personally welcomed her back and then rejoined their station. Sliding into her seat, she glanced over her equipment and touched each piece with pride; it had been so long. Glancing at each member, she eventually turned her attention to her controls and became lost in daily duties.

When the hours had passed and everyone had long completed his or her shift as well as dinner, she stopped by her commander's quarters. It was late, the hour he may've stopped by her cabin many years ago. Ringing the bell, she watched a man clad in a shirt and sweatpants come to the door.

"Do you mind if I come in?"

"Of course not," he said.

On entry, she waited for the door to slide back before continuing.

"I haven't … I haven't properly thanked you," she said.

"I think saving my life is enough," he smiled. When he could tell she was serious, his voice turned gentler. "T'Pol, it really isn't necessary."

"Captain, having a month to think has …. I've come to understand your meaning of family. Vulcans see it as bondmates and children. To humans it includes close friends."

"Sometimes friends are _closer _than family members."

She nodded, and yet even months ago she wouldn't have understood – not to the same degree.

The Vulcan spoke, "I was given a symbol of my house when I was a child." She showed him a triangular pin. "It's an IDIC; infinite diversity in infinite combinations. The colors and words at the bottom mark this as my family's emblem. My father, at the completion of my first suppression rituals, gave it to me. I'd like you to have it."

"I can't accept this," he said, tenderly.

Leaning over carefully, she took his hand and held it – showing his palm – placing the tiny metal object there. His breath was on her neck as she deposited the item, causing her to look into his gaze. To signify the importance of the moment, she held his hand a second more.

"To my knowledge, you are the first human to receive such an emblem," she said, letting her fingers fall away from his.

"I don't know what to say." He felt the pin as his face filled with creases. "Thank you."

"I feel as if …. We have known each other for some time, and yet I feel closer to you. Vulcans typically share what we have only with family members."

Affectionately, he whispered, "I'll wear this with pride."

She nodded and was about to head toward the door when he tugged gently on her arm.

"I meant what I said about discussing your feelings."

"To share them with others?"

"Yes."

"You said so yourself it depends on the person."

His eyes turned a little dark and he gazed into her eyes. "You asked me about my father a few times. There's something I've never told you." As if to himself he repeated the words. "I've never told anyone really."

She was silent.

"He died when I was 14 … in my arms, while I was with him."

T'Pol stayed quiet.

Archer looked at his feet. "My mother was by his side nearly every minute of every hour, but had left to get a few minutes or hours of sleep and it was my responsibility to be with him. He died while _I_ was there."

"You feel you let him die?"

His head bowed. "I did."

She closed in on him a little.

"I may've been angry at the Vulcans for not allowing him to see something he believed in come to fruition, but …. I was madder at myself. I let him go. I gave him permission."

He gave a brief description of the moment.

"_You," his father said, barely above a whisper, pointing to Jon. The man hadn't remembered his name for months._

_Jon didn't care; he rushed to his father's side. _

"_I'm tired," the older man said._

_For a second, Jon looked toward his mother's bedroom, but decided she needed her sleep and leaned toward his father. _

"_What can I do? Do you need something?"_

"_Yes, I need to go," he whispered._

"_Need to go where?" he asked with confusion. "You can't, Dad. You haven't been able to leave for some time.'_

"_I need to go."_

_He explained more forcefully. "You can't--"_

"_Let me go," the man begged._

_And Jon realized his father didn't want to venture to the store, he wanted to be released. _

_Excuses, too many to name, fled to his mind – most of them selfish. He wanted his father to hear about whether he made high school football or if he'd been accepted into the science magnet school. He'd thought about fliers, which had yet taken flight and a first date he was still waiting to experience. His father couldn't die before all those things happened. It wasn't right._

"_Let me go."_

"_I'll go get Mom," he said._

_An arm, one that had been too weak to lift itself for weeks grabbed at the boy's sleeve. _

"_Jon, let me go." _

_The boy weakened at hearing his name._

_And then other recollections set in – a year of watching the man who would light up any room deteriorate into someone who wasn't even a ghost of his former self. The thought of his mother crippled into inaction, giving up her entire life to nurse this man, made his heart sink; it's something his father certainly never wanted. And Starfleet, losing their most knowledgeable engineer, allowed the project to backslide and disintegrate._

_But, it was more than that. The man in front of him had suffered enough. Unable to eat for himself, take breath or remember anything real, he moaned for long periods of time these days as if the pain was unbearable. The glimmer in his eyes had vanished weeks ago, and this shell deserved to be given peace._

"_Please."_

_A frown crossed Jon's face as he closed his eyes and gave a single nod. A single gasp was all he heard and then the young man crushed his father to his chest, crying, as Henry Archer perished._

_As soon as his father took his final breath, Jon felt guilt at having done so while his mother was away and wondered whether it was weakness to let him pass._

Information about him came to light – why he chose to devote his life to his father's dream and his misplaced anger toward the Vulcans. He picked an odd time to tell her about his father, and yet she knew exactly why he had. The information strengthened the bond, made their relationship more equal – matching the secrets she'd divulged to him. And it let her know she wasn't the only one who had a troubled past, with feelings that nipped and gnawed as if demanding attention.

Looking at him, she noticed a frown, but his eyes were free of tears as if whatever pain was there, tears had been shed so frequently and for so long that there was nothing left.

"You didn't have to confide in me," she said.

"I know." His lips twitched. "I wanted to."

"What do you do with this memory?" she asked.

He blinked slowly as if there was much more to that single event than could ever be understood or explained. "I continue."

As she wrestled with the deep emotions of the moment, he moved in on her and spoke. "You will, too."

A single hand grasped her shoulder and caressed it slightly before it fell to his side.

There was a moment between them – hot with electricity and unspoken words. And as soon as she let it register, it disappeared into the heaviness of the room.

"I should probably get to bed," he said.

"As should I," she said.

The two looked at each other and he gave a soft smile. "It was nice seeing you on the Bridge today."

"It was pleasant being there."

She nodded and was about to turn when she heard him say something to her back. "See you tomorrow."

Straightening, she used to her crane to hobble to her room and decided to light a candle and ponder her future. One that she had with family – those friends aboard Enterprise. Before drifting off into meditation, she thought about disclosing more with her friends and promised herself she would. At least she would try.

The end.

A/N: Thanks one more time to Telaka for creating such an imaginative and inspiring tale. Thanks to Goshabyn whose tale of The Ambassador has been interesting! And thanks to you for putting up with 16 chapters of my thoughts. :-)


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